


Goodbye (Again)

by soamazinghere



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 99,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soamazinghere/pseuds/soamazinghere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss gets bumped from an oversold flight and is forced to spend the night in the airport. She meets Peeta, a fellow stranded passenger, and they decide to keep each other company. When their airport stay ends abruptly, Peeta and Katniss reluctantly part and return to their respective hometowns. Will they ever see each other again? Will the connection they forged turn into something more? (Modern AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I've been spending a lot of time in airports recently, and these experiences inspired the first chapter of this story. (Not directly, thankfully.) 
> 
> I've been reading a lot of excellent Hunger Games fanfiction over the past months, but this is my first foray into writing it myself. I appreciate your feedback and any constructive criticism you may have. Thank you!
> 
> I own no part of the Hunger Games.

_6:45pm_

Every last person on the airplane sits nervously, hoping their name hasn't been picked. Hoping that the elderly flight attendant working her way slowly down the aisle isn’t looking for them. The flight was oversold and the airline asked for volunteers to take tomorrow’s flight, but who in their right mind was going to volunteer to give up their seat? Anyone who’s been watching the weather – anyone who even bothered to look out the window – can see that a blizzard is starting. Since no one volunteered, the airline informed us that they are going to pick some unlucky people to leave the flight.

I shrink closer to the window, as if moving away will make her less likely to call my name. Glancing outside, I can see the snow starting to come down harder. If I don’t stay on this plane, there’s no way I’m making it home anytime soon. 

We’ve already boarded the plane, and it really doesn’t seem fair to me that people with seats will be kicked off to accommodate people who aren’t even here. I wish I had elite status with the airline. Then I wouldn’t have anything to worry about, right?

The flight attendant slows as she approaches my row, squinting at the piece of paper in front of her. “23D…Primrose Everdeen. Sorry sweetie, but I need you to grab your bags and come with me.”

Prim gives me a panicked look and starts to grab her things. I grab her shoulder to keep her in her seat. There’s no way I’m letting her leave this plane. Tomorrow she has an interview with the pediatrics program at the hospital where she hopes to do her residency after she finishes medical school this spring. Missing that interview is not an option.

“Sit down, Prim,” I whisper to her quickly. “I volunteer,” I state loudly to the flight attendant. “I volunteer to give up my seat. Can she stay if I go?” 

The flight attendant looks a bit confused. “Why didn’t you volunteer when we asked earlier? We can’t give you any compensation now, you know.”

“I just don’t want my sister to miss this flight.”

“Alright,” the flight attendant sighs. “23E…what’s your name, miss?”

“Katniss Everdeen.”

The flight attendant makes a note on her paper and points to the front of the plane. “Grab your things and go see the gate agent up there.” Then she shuffles off to find her next victim.

“Katniss, thank you so much. I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” Prim wraps her arms around me tightly before I leave, and shoves a stack of celebrity gossip magazines into my arms. “Take these! You might be stuck here for awhile,” she says guiltily. 

I hug her back. “Don’t worry about me, little duck. I can handle a few hours of boredom.” I’m secretly worried that it’s going to be longer than a few hours – maybe a lot longer – but I keep that to myself. “Good luck tomorrow. Call me after!” Prim nods as I sling my backpack over my shoulders, making my way to the front of the plane. 

I lean forward and peek out the window as I walk, only to see the show falling more heavily than before. Ugh. I don’t think I’ll be leaving this airport anytime soon.  
__________

_7:00pm_

Well, this completely and utterly sucks. The unhelpful gate agent standing near the front of the plane told me and the other non-volunteers that we needed to make our way to the rebooking line to get new flights, then sent us on our way. He didn't even tell us where this so-called "rebooking line" is.

As I look back, I feel a bit better seeing that Prim’s plane has moved away from the jet bridge and is being de-iced. If I have to be stuck in this airport for who knows how long, I at least want her to get to her interview. I make a mental note to check later and see if her flight actually takes off. 

I’m kind of regretting this trip now that I’m stuck. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision – I was already coming here for a work meeting, so Prim and I decided to tack on a girl’s weekend at a nearby spa. This part of the country is beautiful in winter, mountainous and snow-covered. So different from home. Lovely to visit, but it is definitely not lovely to be caught here when all of that beautiful snow is actually falling.

Looking down the concourse, I spot what must be the rebooking line. I can’t think of any other reason why hundreds of people would be standing there. Sighing, I drag myself and my suitcase towards the line. As my heels click on the tile floor, I’m reminded that I’m still wearing the uncomfortable suit I brought for my meeting. There is no way I’m leaving my work clothes on for this ordeal. Making a mental inventory of my suitcase, I groan as I remember that I stuffed most of my clothes into Prim’s bag. The only comfortable clothes I have with me are my pajamas. They’ll have to do. I’ll change as soon as I get rebooked on another flight. 

Pulling up to the end of the miles-long line, I pull out my phone and start tapping out a quick email to my boss, letting him know I won’t be in the office tomorrow. Thank goodness I have my laptop with me – I’ll just find a quiet corner and work from the airport tomorrow until my flight home. Please let my flight home be tomorrow! I don’t even want to entertain the thought of being stuck here longer.

I’m staring into the distance thinking about the work I want to accomplish the next day when I feel an insistent tapping on my shoulder. I look up, narrowing my eyes in confusion as I meet the gaze of the smiling blonde man standing behind me. What could he possibly have to smile about? I'm irritable right now, and seeing someone smile annoys me.

He laughs. “You were really off in your own world! I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now.” I roll my eyes. I’m sure he has. “Do you think we’re going to be stuck in the airport all night?” I'm not sure why he’s asking _me_ this. 

Up and down the concourse, I can see people camped out on the floor, lying on backpacks and rolled-up jackets. It looks like a refugee camp or something. I assume if there were hotels available, no one would be voluntarily sleeping on the airport floor. 

“I think so, but I don’t know any more than you,” I respond quickly and pretend to be engrossed in emails on my phone. I don’t like chatty strangers. 

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Who knows? I’ve lost track of all time in my utter boredom, and my feet are killing me from standing so long in these shoes. I shift back and forth uncomfortably from foot to foot. I’ve moved maybe ten feet since I got in this line.

“You ok?” the man behind me asks. 

“I’m fine,” I reply quickly and turn around so my back is facing him. 

“You don’t look fine,” he persists, angling to my side. “You haven’t stopped scowling since you got here.” 

I swear this man is just looking for an excuse to talk. He better not be on my flight, because he seems like one of _those people_ who like to spend the whole flight talking to their seatmates. Whereas I like to put on my iPod and stare silently out the window. Thankfully the odds are good that we aren't both going to the same place. 

I audibly sigh before I answer. “It’s nothing, my feet just hurt.” 

“Take your shoes off,” he suggests. 

“No way. I’m barefoot without them.”

He nudges my suitcase with his foot. “Don’t you have any socks in there?” 

I do, but that’s not the point. I was purposely trying to avoid opening my suitcase with all these people around. You never know what might fall out while you’re rooting around. I was planning to take it to the restroom and open it in private once I’m through this line. But he’s probably not going to let this go. He thinks he’s being _helpful_.

“I can get them later,” I state, hoping that ends this line of questioning.

It doesn’t. “You sure? We’re clearly going to be here awhile. Might as well get comfortable,” he replies, gesturing at the impromptu camps set up all around us. “Do you want me to hold your backpack while you get in your suitcase?” 

I tap my foot and stare at my suitcase. I _really_ want to change my shoes, I just don’t want to open my suitcase in front of anyone, much less a cute guy. (I will grudgingly admit to myself that this blonde man is really good looking.) Giving in, I set my backpack on the floor in front of me. There's no reason he needs to hold it for me. “No thanks. I've got it,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze. 

Kneeling down on the ground, I unzip my suitcase just enough to slip my arm inside. No way am I going to just flip the top open. I feel around for my sneakers and pull them out, along with a pair of socks. I sit on the floor and exchange my heels for the sneakers, stuffing the heels into the bag. I sigh in relief as I stand up.

“You had sneakers in there the whole time? What were we even arguing about?” he teases, giving me a wide smile. “I thought you just didn’t want to stand on the floor in socks.” He raises his eyebrows at me when he sees me finally smile. “That was worth it, wasn’t it? Scowl’s gone!”

I laugh, I can’t help it. I’m feeling so much better.  
__________

_8:10pm_

“Alright, Ms. Everdeen, you’re rebooked for flight 635 tomorrow at 11:55am. Check the monitors in the morning to find your gate. If anything changes, we’ll give you a call.” The agent hands me my boarding pass and points out the flight information monitors behind me.

“Thank you so much,” I reply as I stuff the boarding pass into my backpack. I trudge away from the counter, looking for signs of the nearest restroom. As I make my way down the corridor, I can see that the weather outside still looks pretty bad. Heavy, thick snowflakes are falling steadily. As relieved as I am to be booked on a flight home tomorrow, I know that there’s still a good chance that my flight will be cancelled or delayed. 

The hour or so I spent in line passed a lot more quickly than I thought it would. I spent nearly the entire time talking with the chatty blonde guy. This is not something that quiet and antisocial Katniss usually ever does. I generally can’t think of enough things to say – especially with people I don’t know well – but somehow this conversation was easy. It was certainly a nice distraction. 

I found out that he works in his family’s bakery and had been on a skiing vacation with some college friends. They had all left before the snow started, so he was alone, like me. He asked me about myself, but I was a bit evasive. I hate talking about myself to strangers. I did tell him about my weekend with Prim and her residency interview, though. That seemed safe. 

Glancing up, I see that I've reached the restroom and thankfully, it’s fairly empty. I wheel my bag into a handicapped stall and lay it on the floor to open it. My pajama pants are bright red and covered in pink stars, but they’re so much more comfortable than my slacks. And if I’m going to be sleeping on the floor tonight, my first priority is comfort, not fashion. I throw on a plain grey hooded sweatshirt along with the pajama pants, and stuff my work clothes inside as I zip the suitcase closed. After a quick stop at the sink to wash my hands and braid my hair, I head back out into the throngs of stranded passengers.

I just want to get as far away from the crowds as possible, so I start walking quickly towards the end of the concourse where it appears that fewer people are congregating. Maybe I’ll even be able to find an open power outlet for my laptop down there. At the very least, I want to sit down and think about what to do next.

As I wind my way around the people gathered in the corridor, I feel a hand grip my shoulder suddenly. I jump and my suitcase topples as I whip around.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, reaching down for my bag. I’m more than a little surprised to see the blonde guy. He continues, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was waiting for you to come out of the restroom, but I almost lost you when you changed clothes.” He looks me up and down, and I feel myself blushing. “Ready for a long night in the airport, I see?”

“Clearly,” I answer, feeling a bit flustered. But I actually find myself feeling not entirely unhappy to see him again. I take my suitcase from his hand as we start slowly walking together down the concourse. “Funny we should run into each other again,” I say with a small laugh.

“Not really, I kind of followed you here,” he notes sheepishly, glancing sideways to see my reaction.

Really? Something inside me is a bit flattered by this, but I can’t let him know that. “Well, that’s creepy,” I state flatly. I look over and I think he’s embarrassed. Good.

He clears his throat. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I mean, we did just talk for the last hour. We almost know each other.”

“Sure. We go way back,” I roll my eyes sarcastically. 

He shifts his backpack on his shoulders and smiles at me, almost looking shy. “But after all that talking…I don’t even know your name.”

I guess we skipped that part. I mean, I was trying not to tell him too much information about myself, but I’m not opposed to giving him my name. Still, I hesitate slightly before saying, “I’m Katniss.”

He grins. “It would’ve been so much easier to get your attention when you left the bathroom just now if I could’ve just yelled ‘Katniss!’” 

“Next time,” I tease, laughing in spite of myself.

“And by the way, I’m Peeta. Just in case you ever need to track _me_ down,” he winks.

“Nice to meet you, Peeta.”

We continue in silence for a few minutes, walking down the corridor. I’m not sure what to do. Peeta’s a really nice guy, but I’m starting to get the sense that we’ve run out of conversation. Or maybe I’m just nervous. But honestly, I had been planning to hunker down by myself for the rest of this storm anyway. But there’s just no polite way to leave now. 

“So…,” Peeta finally breaks the silence, “what are your plans for this evening?”

I slow down and look around. Now that we’ve moved down the concourse, there are fewer people around and lots of empty floor space. “Well, I’m not sure. I haven’t thought much further than trying to claim an open spot on the floor.” I think for a moment. “What about you?”

“Yeah, not sure either,” Peeta responds. He bites his lower lip and looks thoughtfully into the distance. “Okay, actually I was wondering if you’d want to, you know….hang out, as long as we’re both stuck? I have a flight at 2:00 tomorrow, then I promise I’ll be out of your way.”

“Hmmmm…” I trail off, unsure of how to respond.

“Listen, if you want me to go, that’s f-”

“No, no,” I cut him off. Yes, part of me wants to just run off into a corner and be alone, but another part wants to give him a chance. I also feel like it would be a little cruel to say no to a request like that. He seems nice, and he’s very easy on the eyes. That's a plus. I take a deep breath and nod. “Let’s hang out. We’ll both be bored out of our minds otherwise. There’s some space over there," I indicate, pointing towards a corner near the windows. "Let’s go sit down and figure out what to do next. Sounds good?”

“Sounds great.”  
__________

_8:35pm_

We situate ourselves near a wall and try to get as comfortable as we can. The cold, hard floor is not ideal for a long stay, but we don’t have any other options. Peeta wanders a few feet away to check some messages on his phone. As I’m rifling through my backpack looking for my laptop’s power cord, my stomach starts rumbling. Looking at my watch, I remember that I skipped lunch today so I haven’t eaten for over twelve hours. 

I step away from my bags to look up and down the concourse. Since we wandered away from the central area, there is nothing to eat around here. All I see is a newsstand and an empty shoe shine station. There might be some snacks at the newsstand, but I’ll be cranky tonight without a real meal. Returning to the bags, I slump down the wall and wait impatiently for Peeta to return.

Peeta puts his phone away and makes his way back. He stops when he sees me staring at him. “What?”

“I’m really hungry,” I whine. “Can you stay with the bags while I find myself something to eat?”

“What about me? I haven’t eaten either,” he points out as he flops down next to me. “Do you want to walk back that way and see what there is to eat?” he asks, pointing back in the direction we came.

“Not really,” I mumble. We just found a spot to sit and all I see when I look down the corridor are crowds of people. We'll probably lose our floor spot if we both leave, and every restaurant must be mobbed with people. I close my eyes and sigh against the wall. “It looks so crowded.”

“Alright,” Peeta tries again. “How about I walk down and see what there is, then I’ll come back and we can decide what to do.”

“Okay,” I agree.

Peeta pulls out his phone and hands it to me. “Here. Put your number in my contacts so we can find each other if we get separated.”

I’m a little bit suspicious of his request, but I guess I would want to have that information too if I was leaving my possessions with a near-stranger. I hand him my phone and ask him to do the same for me, just in case. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Katniss,” Peeta waves over his shoulder as he jogs down the concourse.

As I watch Peeta disappear into the thongs of our fellow stranded passengers, my phone vibrates in my hand. I’m relieved to see a text from Prim.

“ _Hey sis, we just landed. I’ll be home soon!_ ”

I respond immediately. “ _Great! I’m on a flight tomorrow at noon, if the weather clears up._ ” 

“ _Where are you staying tonight?_ ” Prim writes back.

“ _Airport :(_ ”

“ _Oh no! I owe you HUGE! Thanks so much for giving me your seat. See you tomorrow!_ ”

“ _Don’t worry about it. Just ace your interview. Good night!_ ”

I feel so much better knowing that Prim made it home safely. That will make this whole ordeal worth it. Smiling to myself, I slip my phone into my pocket and flip through one of the magazines that Prim left for me. I secretly love reading mindless celebrity gossip, especially when I’m in an airport. 

I’m engrossed in looking at Lady GaGa’s recent vacation photos when Peeta suddenly returns. I look up as he crouches in front of me and runs his hand through his hair. “So?” I demand.

“Well, the options aren’t great, but things are less crowded than they look.”

“That’s fine,” I interject, “My expectations for airport food are very low.”

He chuckles. “That’s good. There’s basically a food court, a Chili’s Too, a Wolfgang Puck Express, and some kind of sports bar.”

Honestly, they all sound terrible to me, but I’m too hungry to be picky. Besides, my only other option is probably to starve myself until I get home. I tap my foot thoughtfully and stare at the zipper on Peeta’s jacket. “Hmmmm…do you have a preference?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“Let’s do Chili’s then,” I suggest. 

Peeta nods and grabs his backpack. As he waits, I shove my magazine back into my bag and stand up, pulling my small suitcase behind me. We carefully step around the other people and belongings that are strewn about the floor and make our way to the walkway. As we move down the corridor, I look back regretfully as I see a family take our newly-vacated floor space. We’ll have to find somewhere else to go after dinner.

We chat idly as we make our way to the restaurant. The Chili’s Too is on the opposite side of the concourse from where we were sitting, so it takes us several minutes to get there. Because I’m hungry, I walk as fast as I can, but that’s difficult with so many people around. Peeta doesn’t seem nearly as impatient as I am. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as we walk – I imagine he’s just happy to have found someone to talk to. He doesn’t seem like a person who enjoys spending time alone. I’m pretty much the opposite, but I find myself feeling happy that I have some company tonight.

Once we get our food and my stomach starts feeling less empty, I find myself relaxing. I sneak a glance across the table at Peeta. This is the first opportunity I’ve taken to really look at him, and I’m struck by how handsome he is. His dark blonde hair is wavy and messy, and yet somehow still looks attractive. His clear blue eyes are so….kind. I can’t think of any other word to describe how they look. They put me completely at ease. Some stubble is forming on his chin, which is not surprising given how late it is. It looks really becoming on him.

I find myself wanting to know more about him, so I break the comfortable silence of our meal with a question. “So, um, Peeta…where are you going back to tomorrow? Where’s home?”

He looks up at me and takes a sip of his water. “Chicago. It’s where I grew up and my whole family still lives there,” he replies. “What about you?”

“I live in DC now, but I grew up in a small town in Virginia.” I decide to steer the conversation back to him to avoid any uncomfortable questions about my family. “Chicago’s such a nice place. I’ve been there on business trips but I’ve never really _visited_ , you know? I’d love to see it someday. It looks like a beautiful city.”

Peeta winks at me and smiles. “Well, if you ever need a tour guide, you’ve got my number,” he says.

I blush furiously and look down at my chicken fingers. I hope it didn’t sound like I was trying to get him to offer to take me out or something. I peek up and see that Peeta has returned to his food as if nothing happened. Good. He must not have read anything into what I said. 

I may be 25 years old, but I still react like a teenager sometimes. Especially when it comes to guys. I’ve had a few boyfriends before, but I’m not talkative and don’t tend to do a lot of dating. I’m also really bad at reading people, so I’m generally clueless as to whether a man is showing interest in me or just having a normal, friendly chat. My social ineptitude frustrates me to no end.

Rather than risk any further embarrassment, I take a cue from Peeta and decide to focus on my meal. I think it’s safer to let him lead the conversation from now on.  
__________

_10:20pm_

I stand up and stretch as we finish our meal and make our way out of the restaurant. “So…what now? We lost the spot we claimed earlier.” I look to my left and right, uncertain. “Which way?”

“Let’s go that way,” Peeta suggests, gesturing to the opposite end of the concourse from where we were before. “We don’t know what’s down there.”

By this time of day, the concourse is noticeably quieter, and although there are still many people around, most have settled down on the ground and are reading or using their laptops or sleeping. I slow down when we pass a large window. I can see the snow continuing to fall outside, coating the tarmac and the few planes that still remain. I’m not optimistic about my chances of making it home tomorrow. 

As if sensing my unease, Peeta reaches over and gently squeezes my shoulder. “There’s no point in worrying about that right now,” he says. “Let’s just find a place to get some rest.”

I smile gratefully at him. He’s right. “What about over there, near the escalators?” I point. 

We’re coming up to a bank of four escalators that lead down to an area where the small jets are parked. Off to the left of the escalators, there is an empty gate with only a few people camped out on the seats. Not many people walked this far down the concourse, so we can have our pick of spots on the floor. Peeta and I walk over and settle down near the large windows. 

As we sit down and arrange our bags, a yawn escapes my mouth. Peeta yawns as well and gives me a small smile. “I didn’t realize until just now how tired I was, either,” he sighs.

“Yeah, it kind of snuck up on me,” I admit. “I never realized before how stressful doing absolutely nothing in an airport can be.”

Peeta laughs and settles down on the ground, using his jacket for a pillow. I unbraid my hair and run my fingers through it. I take off my sneakers but I can’t think of anything else I can do to make myself more comfortable. My backpack becomes an uncomfortable, lumpy pillow as I lie down a few feet away from Peeta. 

I roll onto my side, facing Peeta. “This sucks,” I whisper to him, trying to be mindful of others sleeping nearby.

He turns to face me. “Yeah,” he agrees. He looks thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment, then continues, “Do you need to call and check in with anyone? Like your sister…or your boyfriend?”

“What?! No. Boyfriend!?” I sputter, a little too loudly. Lowering my voice, I tell him, “I texted my sister earlier, and there’s no boyfriend.” I can’t see Peeta’s face at all now because he’s looking away from me. “Why, do you need to go call your girlfriend? It’s fine if you do,” I assure him.

He takes a deep breath and looks back at me. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

I roll onto my back, trying to find a comfortable position. “Then I think we should just try to get some sleep,” I reply, closing my eyes.

Suddenly, I feel Peeta’s warm hand enclosing my own. I open my eyes and stare down at our hands as he quickly squeezes mine and releases it. “Good night, Katniss.”

I hesitate just a moment as I find myself inexplicably wishing that he hadn’t let go.

“Good night, Peeta.”  
__________

_1:45am_

Peeta must be one of those people who can sleep anywhere. Just minutes after we said good night, I could hear that his breathing had slowed down into the telltale rhythm of sleep. I can’t stop myself from staring at him. He looks so peaceful lying there, even in these uncomfortable circumstances. I envy him.

I, on the other hand, have been tossing and turning for hours. I need a bed to sleep in, and I just can’t get comfortable here on the cold, hard airport floor. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and roll my neck. I’m already feeling stiff. 

The airport is almost completely silent now, aside from a few quiet conversations I can hear around me and the occasional announcement on the intercom. Even the lights have been lowered, presumably to help those of us stranded here get some much-needed rest. 

Turning around, I kneel and face the windows behind me. Snow is still falling, but lightly now, not nearly as hard as before. It’s a strange sight to see the tarmac and the runways completely deserted. There are no planes moving, no baggage being loaded, not even a single tire track in the snow. The layer of white covering everything makes it almost as bright as day outside, even though the sky is pitch black. I can’t even see the stars because of all the clouds. 

I raise my hands to the window, relishing the cool feeling of the glass beneath my fingers. Leaning forward, I press my forehead to the glass, trying to bring the cold into my weary eyes. I really, really just want to sleep. 

I sit there for a few minutes, pressing against the glass and breathing deeply, until I hear a rustling behind me. “Katniss?” Peeta sleepily mumbles, working himself into a sitting position.

I turn my head to the side and see Peeta blinking at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Go back to sleep,” I whisper, closing my eyes and turning back to the window. 

He ignores me, because I feel him move closer to me and put his hand on my back. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

“Nothing,” I state. Exhaustion is threatening to overtake me as I sink down and move away from the window. “I haven’t been able to sleep,” I reluctantly admit.

“Oh,” he responds. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?” 

His hand rubs my back slowly as he speaks, and the wonderful sensation lulls my eyes closed. I hug my knees to my chest and drop my forehead onto them. “No,” I sigh. I straighten my back and look at Peeta. Clearing my throat, I repeat, “No, I’ll be okay. You should go back to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can now, anyway,” he says. “Do you want to do something else? Go for a walk or something?”

I shake my head. “What I really _want_ to do is sleep. I just can’t.” In my head, I think I sound whiny, but I’m so tired I can’t control it.

Peeta looks thoughtful for a moment, and then scoots himself to the wall. He leans against it, grabbing the jacket he had been using as a pillow. “Come here,” he motions to me.

I’m not sure what he’s getting at, so I just stare at him blankly.

“You can lean on me,” he explains. “Maybe you can at least get some rest that way.”

“I can’t, Peeta. That looks so uncomfortable for you.” Plus, I’m sure I don’t know him well enough to lean on him in the dark and let him hold me. That does sound nice right now, though.

“Come on, Katniss. It’s no big deal. It’s the middle of the night, we’re just trying to rest,” he persists, holding out his arms.

I’m too tired to protest anymore. I crawl over and lean with my back against his chest, while he settles his jacket on me like a blanket. His arms encircle me loosely, and if I’m being honest with myself, this is the most comfortable position I’ve found all night. As I close my eyes and burrow more closely into him, one of his hands reaches up and slowly strokes my hair. 

Feeling warm and safe in Peeta’s arms, I finally drift off to sleep.  
__________

_6:00am_

As the overhead lights abruptly flicker back on throughout the airport concourse, I am immediately woken up. I quickly throw my right arm over my eyes and groan. I slowly register that my left hand is holding onto something. Peeking under my arm, I see that I am holding another person’s hand in my lap. Peeta’s hand. 

That’s when it hits me that we are leaning against the wall in the same position we were in last night. We must’ve stayed like this all night long. I can’t believe I actually fell asleep. I feel guilty, wondering if Peeta slept at all. I slowly turn my head around to look at him, hoping he’s asleep. Nope. My grey eyes catch his blue ones staring back at me. 

“Good morning,” he says, smiling.

“H-hi,” I stammer, awkwardly trying to extricate myself from his arms without being too obvious about it. His arms tighten around me in a hug for a split second and then he lets me go.

“So…” I begin, shyly looking down at the ground. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. I hope you’re okay.”

He looks up at me surprised. “Why would you say that?” he asks.

“That couldn’t have been pleasant for you,” I explain, gesturing at the wall, “leaning against that all night long.”

He stands and stretches, looking out the window. Glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, he remains quiet for a moment. “I actually slept really well,” he finally says. He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he puts out his hands and helps me to my feet.

“Look,” he motions outside, “no more snow. I guess that means we’re going home today.” He states this factually, without any emotion behind it. I can see something in his eyes, though. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost call it regret. Turning to me suddenly, he asks, “When’s your flight? I don’t think you ever told me.”

“Noon.” 

He looks at his watch. “Six hours, huh? Better make the most of it,” he says, grinning at me. He grabs his backpack. “I’m tired of sitting. Let’s walk and get some breakfast.”

I’m stiff and itching to move too, so I grab my bags and fall into any easy pace alongside him. But my mind keeps running over the words he just said. Six hours? We only have six more hours together. All I’ve been thinking about since I got stuck in this airport is going home, but now for some reason, I don’t want to leave. I know if I do, I’ll probably never see Peeta again. 

I don’t know what to do about how I’m feeling. I’ll figure something out before noon.

__________

_8:20am_

Peeta and I spent the morning walking around while we ate some pastries for breakfast and just…talked. I still can’t believe that a quiet girl like myself could converse so easily with someone I just met. After we circled the concourse several times, we settled down on the floor again. 

We are leaning against the wall, shoulders touching, laughing and playing a head-to-head game of Boggle on my phone. Suddenly over the intercom I hear, “The following Chicago-bound passengers need to report to Gate A12…Josie Bennett…Stan Rosenberg…Peeta Mellark. Thank you.”

Peeta and I look at each other, not sure what to make of what we just heard. “They must have some information about my flight,” he says nervously. “Come with me?” he asks, looking at me hopefully.

“Of course,” I quickly reply. “Let’s go.”

We’re not far from A12, so we make it there in less than five minutes. We walk to the counter together. Peeta steps up to the gate agent and gives his name.

“Mr. Mellark, we have a seat for you on the next flight to Chicago, which is ready to depart. Here’s your boarding pass. We’re in final boarding so we need you to get on right away.” The agent glances at me. “Are you on this flight as well?” she inquires.

“Um…no.” I reply, moving away to let the next person in line approach.

Peeta walks slowly towards me, looking at his boarding pass with a shocked look on his face. He seems like he wants to say something, but for once in the short time that I’ve known him, his words have failed him.

But I think I know how he feels. I feel a little bit like I can’t breathe right now. I’m speechless. I thought we’d have a few more hours before we had to say goodbye. It feels like something’s been stolen from me. 

I break the silence first. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I meet his eyes. “You get to go home.” I mean to sound happy, but I don’t think I'm very convincing. He doesn’t move or respond. “Peeta,” I prod him, “you’ve got a plane to catch. You can’t miss it.”

He snaps out of the trance he was in. “Right,” he whispers. “Um….Katniss…” he trails off.

“Mr. Mellark, we need you on the plane now,” the gate agent calls in our direction.

Peeta breathes out sharply in annoyance and closes his eyes. When he opens them, I run into his arms without thinking. We hold each other for a few seconds, but I can see the impatience of the airline employees behind us, so I reluctantly release my grip on him.

“Goodbye Peeta,” I wave and start to back away.

“Goodbye Katniss.” He stares at me for a brief second, then I see him turn and hand his boarding pass to the gate agent. I look down at my shoes, not sure what to do now.

When I look up again, he’s gone.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy Chapter 2.
> 
> Note that the time stamping of the sections in Chapter 1 will not continue through the rest of the story. That was intended only for that chapter.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games.

So far, the best thing about this evening has been the dates wrapped in bacon.

This is my third date with Seneca. He's a nice guy but incredibly full of himself. He's trying to impress me with near-constant name dropping of various politicians who he knows. I really don't care, though. Yes, I live in DC, but I am completely disconnected from the political scene. I sip my drink and glance around the lively tapas restaurant, nodding absently as he drones on about some fundraiser he attended last week.

Seneca Crane is definitely not the type of guy I usually go for. He is handsome, and incredibly polished looking – but everything about him is so perfect that he almost doesn't look real. He seems to focus an inordinate amount of time on his hair. I bet he'd freak out if I touched it.

Seneca and I probably run in entirely different circles normally – I've certainly never dated a lobbyist before, and he's obviously never dated a woman who isn't impressed by a lobbyist before – but we both work in the same building downtown. We met in our building's gym, where we kept running into each other during our morning workouts. He asked me out and he seemed pleasant enough, so I said yes.

Our first couple of dates were…nice. That's the best thing I can say. For the first date, we met for drinks at a nice restaurant near where we both work, and for the second we went to a baseball game. (He got us _really_ good seats – lobbyist connections, I assume. He told me all about it, but I can't possibly keep track of all the names he was dropping.) I don't get the sense that we're really "clicking," but I'm trying to give him a chance. Prim tells me that I give up on guys too quickly, so I want to give it a fair shot. I just don't really feel anything for him. Thankfully he doesn't seem to need me to keep a conversation going, because we have so little in common that I don't know what to say.

"Katniss….Katniss?" Seneca asks, trying to get my attention.

"Sorry," I say, quickly tearing my gaze away from the window and to look back at him. "What was that?" I ask, trying to sound interested.

"I was just asking if you wanted the last of the endive salad there."

"Oh," I laugh, handing him the small plate in front of me. "No, I've had all I want. The rest is yours."

He reaches across the table and takes the plate from me, finishing the salad in one bite. "Are you still hungry? Should we order more food?" he inquires, absently looking over the menu we kept on the table.

At the very least, I plan to get a good meal out of this evening. "Let's get more of the dates wrapped in bacon," I suggest. "And another pitcher of sangria." Maybe more alcohol will help.

Seneca motions a waiter over to us and puts in our order. Then he sees someone he recognizes at the bar (of course he tells me who it is, but the name means nothing to me) and leaves to go chat. I'm fine with that. I need a breather.

I look up at the waiter as he sets down our sangria and the dates. "Thank you," I smile. Seneca is still engrossed in conversation at the bar. Is he even trying to take me on a date? I'm going to let this one go, since I know he'll be paying, and sitting here by myself is more enjoyable than listening to him talk. Letting out a deep breath, I pour myself another drink and take half of the dates for myself.

I'm staring off into the distance sipping my glass of sangria when Seneca returns. "You won't believe what just happened!" he enthuses. "You know what I was just telling you about the Appropriations Committee? Well, the chairman's chief of staff…" Seneca goes on telling his exciting story, but he lost me. I'm bored out of my mind. What kind of person takes someone on a date and spends the entire evening talking about _work_?

After dinner, we step out of the restaurant into the warm air of late spring. It's not too late, only about 9:00, and lots of locals and tourists alike are outside enjoying the May weather. Seneca and I stroll down the street side-by-side as I try to think of an excuse to end the evening.

"Can I drive you home?" Seneca asks suddenly.

No way. After our last date to the baseball game, he practically attacked me on my doorstep. I let him kiss me but refused to invite him inside. It was only our second date, after all. But from the way he's looking at me, I think I may be in for a repeat performance tonight. Think, Katniss!

"Um….uh…actually, I drove here," I lie. "And I…uh…my little sister is spending the weekend with me, so I have to get back to see her." I'm so bad at this. I hope Seneca buys my story.

"Alright," he says, looking obviously disappointed. He turns towards me and grabs both of my hands in his. Looking me in the eye, he continues, "I had a great time tonight, Katniss. Can I see you again soon?"

Really? He had a great time? This makes no sense to me. I'm too flustered to reject him outright – I never thought he would ask for another date – so instead I say the first thing that pops into my head that evades saying yes or no directly. "Why don't you call me next week and we can talk about it?" This may be a bit cowardly, but I need to prepare myself for this conversation. He's awfully persistent.

"Sure," he whispers, leaning towards me, "next week, then."

My eyes widen. He's trying to kiss me. At the last second, I turn my head to the side and his lips collide with my cheek.

"Goodnight!" I practically yell as I pull my hands away from his. I turn around and give him a quick wave before disappearing into the crowds of people. I jog down the block until I'm pretty sure he can't see me anymore.

The entrance to the metro station looms ahead of me, and I quickly scurry down the escalator and onto the platform. When the train comes, I sink into my seat and close my eyes. I think I need a break from dating for the foreseeable future. I don't know what I'm doing.  
__________

"Can you hand me the tape, Katniss?" Prim juts out her hand in my direction and I give her the roll of tape I was using. She uses it to quickly close another box full of her belongings, which she has labeled as "winter clothes."

The morning after my date with Seneca, I made the two-hour drive south of DC to my hometown. I'm here to help Prim pack for her upcoming move to start her pediatrics residency. She got into her first choice program, and since it's in DC, she and I have decided to get an apartment together. I'm so excited to have my little sister close by again.

I grab the tape back from Prim so that I can make another box and start filling it with books. We're not moving into our new place until next weekend, but I'm going to haul some boxes back with me tomorrow when I go home.

I'm happy to finally leave my tiny studio apartment behind for good. I could have afforded more, at least a one-bedroom, but since I've been living by myself and traveling a ton for my job, I didn't see the point in paying for a nicer and bigger place. But Prim deserves better. She and I spent several weekends in the spring apartment hunting, and we found a nice two-bedroom on Capitol Hill close to the Eastern Market. We actually have the top two floors of an old, restored rowhouse. It's going to take me some time to get used to having space again. I've grown accustomed to having my kitchen, bedroom, and living space in the same room.

"I need a break," Prim says, settling heavily onto her bed. "All this packing is making me tired!"

"Prim, we've barely done three boxes," I tease.

She flips onto her stomach, ignoring me. Suddenly she looks up. "Katniss! You never told me about your last date with…what's his name again?"

"Seneca," I state, rolling my eyes and flopping down next to her with a sigh.

"Details, Katniss!" Prim commands.

"There are no 'details' to tell. We had dinner, then I went home. That's it." I bury my face into the blanket and continue with a muffled voice, "And he wants to go out again."

"Do you want to?"

"Not really. But I haven't told him that yet," I mumble.

Suddenly the door to Prim's room is pushed open. "I knew I'd find you girls here! Can I get you anything for lunch?"

It's our Aunt Effie. Even though it's just a normal Saturday afternoon, she's wearing more makeup than I've ever worn in my life. Her permed and bleached-blonde hair is perfectly styled into something resembling a helmet. This is normal for Effie. She's never been what I would call "casual." But we love her just as she is.

"No thanks, Aunt Effie. Katniss and I were just discussing her love life." Prim wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively.

I throw a pillow at her and groan. "No, we weren't!" I shout, sitting up.

Effie sits next to me and pats my back encouragingly. "Anything you want to talk about, dear?"

"No. I just wasted my time on three dates with a guy who I definitely don't want to see again," I explain. I move off the bed and start packing more of Prim's clothes into a box.

"Sweetie, you'll find the right person someday," Effie croons reassuringly.

"I _just_ turned 26," I say, cramming the box as full as I possibly can. "And I don't even need a man at all. I'm fine on my own," I huff.

"I know, Katniss." Effie responds as she turns to Prim. The two of them share a knowing look. "We just want you to be happy."

"I _am_ happy," I state emphatically.

But I know that this won't placate Effie. In her world, being happy is inextricably tied up in finding a husband. She believes in true love, knights in shining armor, and all that. I guess I should be grateful that she still has this optimistic attitude even after Prim and I basically caused her marriage to fall apart. She would have every right to feel bitter towards us. Her ex-husband, Haymitch, left her soon after she took us in. He had zero interest in raising two girls who weren't his own children. But however Effie may feel, she's always given us her love and treated us as her own.

Aunt Effie isn't really our aunt. She was my mom's best friend. They both grew up together in this small Virginia town. Our family was very poor growing up, but my parents filled our home with love and Effie doted on us, so we never felt deprived of anything.

One winter was I was eleven, there hadn't been enough money to pay the heating bills, which wasn't uncommon. We were often going without something, whether it was electricity or phone service or even running water. Dad always found some way to take care of it eventually. But it was hard for them – mom couldn't work because there was no one else to take care of me and Prim. So we relied completely on dad's meager income.

It was a particularly bitter winter when our heat was turned off. Dad couldn't bear to see Prim and me suffering. He used what little money he could spare and bought some camp stoves to help keep up warm in the house. This worked fine for most of the winter. But one morning, none of us woke up. Effie found us when the school called her to find out why Prim and I weren't there. Mom and dad both died – carbon monoxide poisoning, the doctors told us. Prim and I pulled through.

As far as I can tell, Effie didn't hesitate for a second in deciding to take us in after our parents died. She loved my mom like a sister, and she loved us just as much. It couldn't have been easy on her – after her marriage broke up, she had to raise us a single mom, essentially. I've always felt a little guilty that she never got to have kids of her own. She's been a great mom to me and Prim.

As happy as I am that Prim is moving to DC with me, I feel bad that we're leaving Aunt Effie behind. That's my only regret. Prim and I have been her life for the past fifteen years – her encouragement and persistence are what inspired us to go to college and aspire to careers that we could never have here in our hometown. As much as I miss my mom and dad, there is a little nagging voice in me sometimes that wonders how different our lives would have been without Effie raising us. Would we have ever left this town?

I reach over and give Effie a big hug. "Don't worry about me, you two," I say lightly, with a broad smile. "I promise to be open to finding my _true love_ someday."

Aunt Effie hugs me back. "That's all we ask, Katniss."  
__________

"Can you come by my office in about 30 minutes?" my boss asks, poking his head into my office.

I look up from my computer screen and nod. "Sure."

"Fantastic. We've got some new work for you," he says quickly before turning and jogging down the hallway.

I'm just guessing, but "new work" probably means more travel. I've been working in my position at D12 Cybersecurity for about six months, and by now I've gotten used to the fact that my job requires me to travel a lot. I'm usually gone at least two weeks every month, sometimes more. When I was recruited out of my last job to come here, they didn't make the position sound quite so heavy on travel. Good thing I don't mind.

I finish the email I was writing to one of my clients, then head down the hallway to see my boss. Plutarch Heavensbee is one of the founders of D12, and he was instrumental in bringing me here. I spent a summer when I was still in graduate school interning with him back when he used to work for a competing cybersecurity firm. Several years later, when he left to start his own company, he contacted me immediately to convince me to work for him. It took some time for me to agree – I already had a pretty nice job with an established company – but the good pay and flexibility (when I'm not traveling) tipped the scales in his favor.

"Hey Plutarch," I say, slipping into his office and plopping down in a chair. "What's up?"

He turns away from his computer and props his elbows onto his desk. "So, we just secured a new client, a large company called Capitol Consulting. I need you for the usual."

For my job, "the usual" means that I attempt to hack into their systems remotely, then go on-site to install D12's security software, remedy any security flaws, and train their employees. The on-site work with clients is why I spend most of my time traveling. Plutarch's business has really taken off over the past year – we're getting new customers all the time.

"Alright," I agree. "Where am I going?"

"Their headquarters are located in Chicago, so you'll head there as soon as we finish the penetration tests."

Chicago.

Plutarch's voice momentarily fades into the background as I realize what that means.

_Peeta_.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about him over the past few months. Especially after these pathetic dates I've had with Seneca recently. I've definitely found myself comparing him to Peeta. But I always stop myself. Peeta lives hundreds of miles away…he's not an option for me.

And besides, I haven't talked to him since we left each other in the airport.

I can't get distracted with that right now though. Plutarch has stopped talking and is looking at me expectantly. "So? Any questions?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Not right now. Just send me any information I need to get started."

"I will. Thanks, Katniss," he dismisses me, turning back to his computer.

I leave and walk down the hallway in a daze, not thinking about my new client or the work I need to do.

I'm thinking about one thing – Peeta.

I returned home after meeting Peeta feeling inexplicably empty and sad. I barely knew this man and yet I felt drawn to him in a way I'd never experienced before. In reality, I know we would have only had a few more hours to spend together in the airport and most likely nothing would have happened. But the "what if" lingered in my mind for a long time.

I grab my phone and flip through the list of contacts. There it is – Peeta Mellark. I've kept his number in my phone this whole time. I've often contemplated calling him. I've typed out text messages several times but always deleted them before I could hit "send." And honestly, as more time passed since our night in the airport, the more nervous I became about the thought of contacting him. Maybe I could have gotten away with it right after I got home, but now it would seem…I don't know. Random? Creepy? Stalker-ish? Embarrassing no matter what.

And he hasn't contacted me either. So he's probably not sitting at home thinking about me. I'm sure he would've gotten in touch if he wanted to. He wouldn't be nervous. There's nothing intimidating about me, after all.

I'm startled out of these thoughts by my phone ringing in my hand. I look down and groan – its Seneca. Great.

"Hello?" I answer, squeezing the bridge of my nose between my fingers.

"Katniss! How've you been? I was calling to see if you wanted to-"

I cut him off. "No. Listen, Seneca, I don't think this is working out. Um…" I trail off. What am I supposed to say? "I'm just not interested in dating anyone right now." That's kind of true. It's hard to find time to date when you travel as much as I do.

There's silence on the other end of the line. Finally he speaks. "Okay…this seems kind of sudden. Our dates have been going really well," he responds.

Is he serious? This just reaffirms that I'm making the right decision in ending this. I summon my courage. "No, they haven't, Seneca. I hope you don't feel like I was leading you on. It's not your fault, there's just no chemistry between us," I state with finality.

More silence.

"Are you serious, Katniss?" he asks with disbelief in his voice. Has no one ever broken up with him before? And this isn't even a break-up - we've only been on three dates, I'm just telling him we're not going to continue.

"Perfectly serious," I reply.

"You know if you do this, I'm not going to call you again," he retorts, sounding exasperated.

That's a _good_ thing. Please, Seneca, never call me again. "I understand."

"Fine, goodbye."

"Bye," I say softly. He's already hung up though.

That went much better than I expected. Okay, it went well aside from Seneca reacting like a child, but I can't control that. Usually I freeze in these situations. I'm not good at coming up with the right thing to say. I imagined I would fumble through the conversation and maybe waste time letting him try to talk me out of my decision. But today I felt stronger. Something compelled me to get to the point and get it over with.

Putting my phone down on my desk, I smile and stare out my window at the street below. I'm much happier than I thought I would be after having a stressful talk with an arrogant would-be boyfriend.

I didn't even realize how much the situation with Seneca had been weighing on me, but I feel about a hundred times lighter all of a sudden.  
__________

"Ladies and gentleman, it is now safe to use approved electronic devices."

I lean forward to pull my backpack out from under the seat in front of me. I unzip the top and fumble around until my hand finds my iPod. Settling back into my seat, I put in my earbuds and turn on some music, tuning out the quiet chatter of the passengers around me. I fly so often these days that I'm almost always upgraded to first or business class, so I'm actually pretty comfortable in my seat. I let out a deep breath and stare out the window, watching the broken clouds as they pass below me.

It's a warm June afternoon and I'm finally on my way to Chicago. The past few weeks have been full of activity, so I've been very happily distracted from thoughts of this trip – and Peeta.

In late May, Prim and I moved into our new apartment. We are absolutely loving living together again. Aunt Effie spent a week with us helping us get settled. She spent way too much money buying us things we needed. We couldn't stop her. We're still her little girls, even if we are all grown up. We've told her that she can come visit us anytime she wants, but she's not very comfortable in the city. She's happier in our small hometown.

Prim has just started orientation for her pediatrics residency. I still can't believe that my little sister is going to be a doctor. This is her dream job and she's still nervous about making a good impression. I know she'll be great at it, though.

Things at work have been a little complicated. Since Seneca and I both work in the same building, it's awkward when we run into each other. At first, I would at least nod my head and say "hi" to him. But he's decided to ignore me, so now I'm doing the same to him. I still hate running into him though, even if we pretend to be strangers. It's especially difficult when we end up stuck in the elevator together. Thankfully, that doesn't happen often. I've also noticed that he's stopped going to the gym in the mornings – at least, I never see him there anymore. I guess Katniss Everdeen scared him off. Who would've thought?

At work, we spent a few weeks completing our tests on the systems at Capitol Consulting. I have all the results and know exactly what I need to do starting tomorrow. I should be able to finish my work in three days, assuming all goes well. Capitol Consulting has been an easy client to work for, so I'm not anticipating any problems.

There's just one thing stressing me out - Peeta. I never did work up the courage to contact him and let him know I would be in town. Chicago's a huge city, and he'd never know I'd even been there if I just did what I do on almost every trip: go to work during the day and spend my evenings alone, in the hotel or exploring the city.

Why can't I just leave this alone? If I delete his contact information from my phone, I would be able to make a clean break. I'd have no way to find him again and I could move on. But it's been five months and it's still there. I bet he deleted my number long ago.

I bite my lip and bounce my legs nervously. I have to do _something_ , otherwise I'll probably be hung up on Peeta forever. I decide to send him a text when I land asking if he wants to get together while I'm in town. Since I didn't give him any advance notice, he probably won't be free anyway. Actually, he probably won't even respond. But at least I'll know I tried.

I look down at my watch – there's about one hour left until we land in Chicago.

One more hour to talk myself out of this.  
__________

I'm in Chicago. The plane landed, and because I was sitting in business class, I got off quickly. I dragged my suitcase to the nearest gate with empty seats and sat down to think.

I've been sitting here for a few minutes now, staring at my phone. I already typed the simple message. " _Hi Peeta. This is Katniss. Remember me? We met at the airport in January. I'm in Chicago – would you like to meet up?_ " But I can't gather the courage to send it.

Just do it already! I stand up, balancing my phone in one hand and my suitcase in the other. I quickly hit "send" and stuff the phone in my pocket. I start walking briskly down the concourse, following the signs to ground transportation. I'll just distract myself by focusing on catching my train to get downtown and not think about any response – or lack thereof – to the text I just sent.

O'Hare Airport is huge. I've been here many times before – usually just connecting to another flight going somewhere else – but I've never given much thought to its size before. But as the minutes pass while I make my way out of the concourse and towards the trains, I really notice how far and how long I've walked without feeling any vibration from my phone alerting me to a response to my text. The sinking feeling in my stomach gets greater with each step.

I've made it to the train station and am trying to figure out the fare machine when I feel the phone buzz in my pocket. I freeze. I want to look at it right away, but I reason to myself that getting this ticket and making the next train are more important than reading Peeta's text telling me that he's busy or has forgotten who I am.

As difficult as it is, I will myself to ignore my phone until I'm seated on a train heading downtown. With some degree of trepidation, I slowly pull my phone from my pocket. Why is reading a simple message making me so nervous? It's not like we're actually speaking face to face.

I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding and press the home key on my phone. My eyes widen in disbelief.

" _Wow, Katniss! Yes I remember you and would love to see you. You're here now? How about tonight?_ "

Tonight!? That doesn't give me much time to mentally prepare for this. I tap my feet nervously and stare at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do. Let's not overthink this, Katniss. I type, " _Sure. Where and when?_ "

" _Are you staying downtown? I can meet you there._ " he quickly responds.

" _Yes, downtown. I just got here though – I'm on the train from the airport right now._ "

Peeta doesn't write back immediately, but when he does, I'm floored. He says, " _Really? In that case, would you be willing to meet in a few minutes? Your train goes right through my neighborhood. I can pick you up._ "

Okay, my mental preparation time is rapidly dwindling to zero. Meet him in a few minutes? Why is he so eager? He probably has plans later.

I decide to go for it. This might be my only chance to see him on this trip – or ever. " _Alright. Where do I get off the train?_ "

" _Jefferson Park._ "

I lean over to look at the station map on the train's wall. Jefferson Park is four stops away. Oh god. Can I do this? " _I see where that is. I'll be there soon,_ " I reply.

" _I'll be waiting. :)_ "

I slip my phone back into my pocket. Taking a deep breath, I grip my suitcase handle so tightly my knuckles turn white. Here goes nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on the story's geography. I didn't want to set this in specific, named cities but I couldn't imagine Katniss and Peeta meeting in an airport without saying where they are from. Since Katniss is the narrator, I decided she would live in Washington DC since I am very familiar with that town and can write about it because I live there. However, I apologize to Chicago residents, because I am really not that familiar with the city. I'm going to try not to overwhelm with details about either place though. This story isn't about the cities - it is about Katniss and Peeta.
> 
> Please follow me on tumblr (so-amazing-here) or twitter (soamazinghere) for questions/comments about this story, or just to talk about anything. I'm just getting started but I want to make friends! :)


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! It makes my day every time I see them. 
> 
> Please come say hi to me on tumblr (so-amazing-here). I love meeting you!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games.

A strong gust of air hits me as the train leaves the station behind me. I just got off at Jefferson Park, as Peeta instructed. I look around for the exit and slowly start to roll my suitcase in that direction.

I can't believe I'm really doing this. 

Deep breaths, Katniss. This is no big deal. I'm just meeting a guy to hang out. And even though this guy is Peeta, who I've been hung up on for months now, the truth is, we barely know each other. We couldn't even really be called friends - just acquaintances, I guess. I have to keep reminding myself that he is most _definitely_ not hung up on me. After all, he never tried to contact me at any point in the past five months. He had my number if he'd wanted to. Actions speak louder than words, right?

Remembering that Peeta never contacted me gives me the strength to push my nervousness away. Or at least to try to push it away. I don't want to appear weak or desperate. It took a lot of courage for me to send him that text message from the airport earlier, but I'm not ready to give him any more hints that I'm interested. Because even though I am, the fact remains that he lives in Chicago and I live in DC. Not the most compatible arrangement.

I exit the fare gates and leave the station, squinting in the bright sunlight. I stop to put on my sunglasses as I survey the area around me. Before I can spot him, I hear, "Katniss!" I abruptly let go of my suitcase and whip around in the direction of the voice.

And there's Peeta, just a few feet away from me. He looks every bit as handsome as I remember. So handsome, that I'm finding it incredibly difficult to look into his eyes without blushing. As hard as I fight it, my face is soon covered in a huge grin. 

I would say that he looks happy to see me, too.

"Hi Peeta," I say lightly, trying not to make it too obvious that I'm practically bursting inside right now. Just to prove how nonchalant I am about all this, I walk right up to him and put my arms out for a hug. You know, like friends would do if they hadn't seen each other for awhile.

I intended to just give him a quick, superficial, friendly squeeze, but that's not what happens. Peeta's arms wrap around me so tightly I can barely breathe as he pulls me into his chest. My eyes widen as I'm caught off-guard by the sudden closeness, but my face is buried in Peeta's shoulder, so I'm sure he doesn't see. My body moves of its own accord as I hug him back every bit as tightly. I close my eyes and sigh into his chest as I feel him lean the side of his head against mine. We rest like this for a few seconds. I don't want to let go.

But I should. Clearing my throat, I back away and grab my suitcase. "It's great to see you, Peeta. Thanks for picking me up," I tell him. "I hope this isn't a huge inconvenience."

Peeta takes my suitcase from me as he leads the way his car. "Of course not, Katniss," he responds warmly. "I'm really happy you let me know you were in town."

"Well, I seem to remember someone telling me I had a tour guide if I ever came to Chicago," I giggle nervously. "So I guess I'm taking you up on the offer."

I can see an amused look creep across his features. "I'm at your service, then!" he laughs. He pulls a key out of his pocket and points it at a nearby car, unlocking it. "Here we are," he says, carefully placing my suitcase into the trunk. I climb into the passenger seat and wait for him.

When he gets in, he stares at me for a brief moment and shakes his head. I look at him questioningly. "I still can't believe you're here," he explains.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" 

"Good. Definitely good." He shifts the car into drive and eases us into traffic. "I've been wanting to see you again ever since we left each other at the airport," he mumbles, looking away from me. 

I turn away from him so that he doesn't see the confused look on my face. If that's true, why didn't he contact me? But given that he's been a gentleman and not asked me the same question, I decide to let it go. Now isn't the time for that conversation.

"So, tour guide," I begin, turning back towards him, "what are we going to do this afternoon?" 

Peeta looks at me as he runs his hand through his hair. "You know, I'm not sure," he admits. "I was so excited you were free to come see me right away that I didn't think any further ahead."

We look at each other and smile. Honestly, I don't care what we do - I just want to spend some time with _him_. My stomach flutters to think that he might feel the same way.

I settle back into my seat. "Can I make a request?"

"Of course!"

"Can we stop for a snack?" I ask. "I'm hungry, but I just need something to tide me over until dinner."

He winks at me. "I've got just the thing."  
__________

I had almost forgotten that Peeta told me he worked for his family's bakery. When he suggests that we head there to find me something to eat, I jump at the chance. He told me that he practically grew up in this bakery. I'm dying to see the place. 

Just a few minutes after leaving the train station, Peeta parks his car on the street in front of an unassuming storefront in a small retail strip. The small, two-story brick building is dominated by large windows on the ground floor that give passers-by a peek at the delicious-looking pastries and breads inside. I see a sign that says "bakery" but no other signage suggesting that the store has an actual name. I guess it's just the "bakery." Descriptive enough, I suppose.

"You're getting special treatment, you know," he explains, raising his eyebrows at me and gesturing towards the bakery's front door. "I always go in through the back door in the alley behind the building. But for you…" He opens the front door and motions for me to go ahead of him. 

I hear a bell ring as we enter. I walk in, looking around me, but suddenly I can't concentrate on anything but the intoxicating scent of baking bread.

"Oh god, Peeta," I sigh, breathing in deeply. "It smells so good in here. I'm _dying_."

He laughs and grabs my elbow, steering me towards the display case of pastries in the front of the store. "Let's get some food in you before that happens," he teases.

Just then, a door behind the counter clatters open. A man who looks to be slightly older than Peeta backs out, balancing a tray of cookies. "Sorry about that," the man calls, not yet looking in our direction. "How can I help you?"

"Hey there," Peeta calls to the man. "Katniss, this is my brother, Hugh."

Hugh looks up and I give him a small wave. "Sorry to interrupt," I tell him.

Hugh and Peeta don't look exactly alike, but they both share the same deep blue eyes. Hugh's hair, however, is light brown and he's taller and thinner than his brother. He gives me a big smile and turns to Peeta, raising his eyebrows. "Peeta, is this-"

Peeta cuts him off before he can finish. "Katniss. This is Katniss," he repeats. He gives his brother a pleading look and shakes his head slightly. I look between the two of them, somewhat confused.

Hugh rolls his eyes. Peeta glares at him and continues loudly, "We came here to get her something to eat. She just got off an airplane."

Hugh nods and gestures at the display case. "Katniss, it's nice to meet you. Pick anything you want - it's on the house."

I shake my head. "No, I'll pay. I'm here for work and-"

"Nope, nope, nope," Hugh says, "Peeta here won't let me take your money."

Peeta puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes quickly. "He's right, you know," he agrees. I blush at the contact and look away. I happen to catch Hugh raising his eyebrows as he gives Peeta a pointed stare.

Collecting myself, I put my hands up in surrender and say to the brothers jokingly, "Okay, you win. What do you recommend?"

"Hmm…I think some cheese buns are coming out of the oven right now," Hugh replies. "DAD!" he yells, turning around and running through the door into the kitchen in the back of the bakery.

After Hugh is gone, I turn towards Peeta, smiling. "Cheese buns? Am I going to like them?" I ask.

"Only if you're alive," he jokes, leaning against the wall and staring down at me.

I lean on the wall next to Peeta and find myself shifting imperceptibly closer to him. Just as I remember from our time at the airport, he's still putting me at ease. If I keep close, maybe he'll slip his arm back around my shoulders. That felt nice.

Suddenly, the door behind the counter opens again. Hugh emerges and hands me a plate with two small, steaming pastries on it. Cheese is oozing out the sides of the golden brown buns. My mouth waters just looking at them.

Before I have a chance to take a bite, I look up and realize that Hugh is not alone. An older man who looks very much like Hugh has followed him from the kitchen. He glances at me and then turns to Peeta. "So _this_ is your 'emergency,'" he guffaws. Peeta looks at the man in disbelief and turns beet red. Turning to me, the man extends his hand. I quickly put down my plate of cheese buns and meet his hand with mine. "Katniss, I'm Peeta's dad."

"Nice to meet you," I squeak. Why does Peeta look so embarrassed? It's making me nervous.

"Peeta, I'm glad to see you had a good reason for leaving work in the middle of the afternoon," his dad says with amusement in his voice. 

Peeta leans on the counter and puts his head in his hands, "'Emergency' may have been the wrong word to use," he mumbles.

His dad walks around the counter and claps Peeta on the back. "It's fine, son. I was happy to get out of the house and away from your mother for awhile," he reassures him.

I stare back and forth between the two of them. Are they implying that Peeta _left work early_ to get me at the train station? I turn to Peeta with a shocked look on my face. "I didn't mean to take you away from work! We could have gotten together another time," I protest.

"No, I wanted to see you today."

Hugh jumps in as well. "It's just like my brother to do something bold like that. You know, go after what he wants. Right, Peeta?" Hugh asks his brother, barely able to contain his glee.

Peeta huffs out a breath and gives his brother a menacing look. Hugh throws his head back and laughs.

"Anyway," Peeta continues, ignoring his brother's comment, "Katniss and I were just heading out." He takes the plate from me just as I finish the second pastry and hands it to his dad. The cheese buns were perfect. I think I could live off of them. Peeta puts his hand on my back and starts pushing me gently towards the door.

I twist my head around and yell "Goodbye!" Peeta's dad waves in response and gives me a warm smile. 

Emerging from the bakery onto the sidewalk outside, Peeta and I walk silently down the block. What just happened in there? Peeta looks embarrassed, but not upset. He's got his hands in his pockets and is looking down at his feet. It seems like he wants to say something to me.

Maybe there's a good reason why he decided to see me during work instead of afterwards. I ask Peeta, "Do you have plans later? Is that why you needed to get together this afternoon?"

He turns to me with a surprised look. "No. I'm free all evening - I thought we would spend it together."

I look away so he can't see the smile spreading across my face. "I'd like that." I still don't understand what happened in the bakery though. I reach my hand out and place it on Peeta's arm, stopping him. "But why did you leave work early if you're free tonight?"

"I…uh…it just made sense," he stammered. "You were already on the train going through my neighborhood." 

I'm not entirely convinced by this explanation, but I decide not to press any further. His dad and brother have teased him enough for one afternoon. There must be some reason he isn't being up-front with me, but I don't want to waste what little time we have together trying to figure it out. 

Instead I decide to tell him what I've been thinking all afternoon. "I'm really happy to see you again, Peeta," I say shyly. 

The look he gives me right then nearly stops my heart. "Me too," he agrees.  
__________

We spend what feels like hours just walking and talking, until we both start to feel a little uncomfortable from the heat. It's June, but I'm still surprised at how hot Chicago is. It's funny, I just think of Chicago as a cold weather city. Peeta tells me that summers in Chicago can definitely be hot and humid. Sounds almost like Virginia. 

Eventually Peeta suggested that we get out of the heat by stopping for an early dinner. I was thrilled that he didn't want to take me to a pretentious or trendy hotspot - after my day of travel, I was exhausted and just wanted something low-key. We went to a little hole-in-the-wall Polish restaurant in his neighborhood. Over the hearty entrees we ordered for dinner, he explained to me that this was his comfort food. He's from a big Polish family (even though you wouldn't know it from the last name Mellark) - his family's bakery even started out as a Polish bakery. They expanded their offerings to include more mainstream baked goods as their neighborhood changed and became more diverse. 

After dinner, Peeta offered to drive me around and show me some of the city. I jumped at the offer because I wasn't ready to leave him just yet - I'd been having such a wonderful afternoon that I didn't want to see it end. 

I settle back into my seat and stare out the window as Peeta drives us along a road near Lake Michigan. I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear Peeta's voice.

"I don't think I asked - how long are you in town, Katniss?" he asks.

I think for a moment. "About three days," I answer. "I should be leaving on Thursday if everything goes well with my client."

"Do you travel a lot for your job?"

"Yeah," I sigh. Straightening up, I look over at him and continue, "Don't get me wrong, I like my job. And I'm fine with the travel - I mean, I'm not married and I don't have kids, so it's easy for me to do. But it can be exhausting," I say, flopping back into my seat.

"Really?" Peeta exclaims. "Isn't it fun to visit new places and meet new people? And get paid to do it?" he teases as he gives me a quick sideways glance.

"Maybe for _you_ it would be!" I laugh. "I'm just not a people person - at the end of the day, I need some time to decompress and get away from everyone," I explain. "I spend a lot of evenings alone." I hope that doesn't sound pathetic. I actually really like my evenings alone - they're exactly what I need after spending my whole day talking to people. Peeta's so outgoing, he probably doesn't understand how drained I can be after a day of work.

Peeta's silent for a few seconds, as if he's thinking about what I just said. "That sounds…kind of nice," he slowly admits. I look at him, raising my eyebrows in surprise. He sees me and chuckles. "You probably don't believe me," he continues, "but I spend all day with my family in the bakery, and a lot of my evenings too since we all live in the neighborhood. It can be hard to get away."

I'm feeling a bit bolder after our day together, so I decide to test the waters a bit and steer the subject towards the teasing in the bakery earlier today. I'm still curious what they were talking about. "You seem really…close to your family," I say, struggling to find the most diplomatic words. "I mean, based on what I saw with your dad and brother earlier."

"Hmmm," he intones absently, "I guess we are."

"You seemed a little annoyed with them before," I press on. "But you must like teasing each other. Maybe it's a guy thing - my family is all women, and we interact differently." I hope I'm not being too obvious.

"Well, what you saw earlier was…," he shakes his head, remembering, "They were trying to rattle me."

"You mean what they said back at the bakery?" I ask. Pausing, I try to decide how best to continue. "I was really confused. I felt like you all were in on some joke." 

Peeta looks at me, concerned. "You didn't think they were making fun of you, right?" he questions me. As I shake my head, he relaxes and continues. "They were just…" he trails off, sighing as he rubs his neck with one hand.

"What?" I prod.

"Can I tell you something embarrassing?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him. 

Aha, maybe now I'm getting somewhere. "Of course!" I respond a little too eagerly.

"Well…they both already knew who you were," Peeta begins.

"Because you had to ask off from work, right?"

He bites his lip and looks away. "No, because I told them about you after I got home. From the airport, when we met," he adds.

My eyes widen, but I look out the window so Peeta can't see. I didn't tell anyone about _him_.

I hear him take a deep breath before he continues, "I wanted to get back in touch with you, but I was too nervous. Hugh kept pushing me to call, but I kept finding excuses not to. As more months passed…" he stops and sighs. 

I know exactly how he feels. Glancing over at him, I can see that he looks a bit distressed. That was probably hard for him to say out loud. I feel compelled to reassure him.

I reach over and put my hand on his forearm. He stares at me briefly, trying to read my intentions. I can't meet his intense gaze, so I put my hands into my lap, staring at them as I say, "I know. You don't know how many times I almost called or texted you." I look up apologetically and continue, "If I'd known, I would've gotten in touch sooner."

Peeta lets out a small disbelieving laugh as he quickly looks up at the ceiling. He lowers his gaze to focus again on the road, but slowly slides his hand over until it finds mine, intertwining our fingers. I hold on tightly, relishing the feeling of his soft, warm hand.

He looks at me shyly. "Well, it's not as if I live around the corner," he says, trying and failing to force a teasing tone into his voice. He adds seriously, "But hearing you say that, I really regret not calling you." He maintains his tight hold on my hand.

An air of sadness fills the car. I don't know what to say to him now. We can't go back in time and change our actions. 

"Let's not think about that," I urge. "We had a good time tonight, right?"

"We did," he agrees immediately. Glancing at the clock, he points out sadly, "It's getting late. Do you need to check in to your hotel?" 

I'd forgotten all about that, but I'm here for work after all. Still, the thought of leaving Peeta makes a lump form in my throat. I swallow it and close my eyes.

"I do," I say softly. 

The drive to my hotel downtown takes no time at all - at least that's how it feels to me. Peeta never lets go of my hand, but we pass the time in silence. Before I know it, we're pulling into the driveway of the high-rise. Peeta opens the trunk and I step out of the car, blinking in the bright overhead lights. It's nighttime but the harsh lights make it as bright as day here. There's nowhere to hide. I hope I can mask how sad I'm feeling right now.

Pulling my suitcase from the trunk, I wave off the doorman who tries to take it from me. Peeta grabs my hand and steers me around to the other side of his car, away from the hotel doormen and other guests walking through the driveway.

He looks me in the eye and takes a deep breath. "Katniss, I'm not ready to let you go just yet." 

For just a second, my heart stops. 

He continues, "Can I see you again before you leave? I know you said you like to spend your evenings alone, but-"

I cut him off. "How's tomorrow night?" I ask.

His eyes light up and a smile creeps across his face. "Tomorrow's great. Meet you here?"

"Sure. What are we going to do?" As the words leave my mouth, I realize that I'm talking about a lot more than our plans for the evening. I think Peeta knows it, too.

"I don't know. But we'll figure it out."   
__________

I end up spending the next two nights in Chicago with Peeta. I remember very little about the work I did, but I accomplished everything that I needed to do, and I know that I'll be going home on Thursday as planned. I found myself wishing that the client would be difficult or something would go wrong that would force me to stay an extra day, but no such luck.

I've barely had any time to myself this week, but I am thoroughly enjoying it. Peeta is such an amazing person and I love every minute that we spend together. He's everything I've never found in any man I've dated before - genuinely kind and caring, funny, sweet, and focused on making me happy. He hasn't seemed to care at all what we've done in the evenings - it's as if he just wants to spend time with me. I couldn't tell you what restaurants we went to or what places we visited, but I can recount practically every detail of our conversations. 

I'm feeling a connection to him so quickly it's scaring me.

Yet I'm still very aware of the fact that I'll be leaving soon. That fact is making me hold back in my interactions with him. I'd love to be able to show him exactly how I feel and make it clear to him how much I enjoy spending time with him, but I can't. I'm afraid of being hurt. 

In the back of my mind, I know I'm already too far gone to avoid the hurt, though. 

I'm painfully aware of that fact today. It's Wednesday night already. Late Wednesday night. Peeta and I went out to dinner earlier and now we're taking a walk on a path near the lake. It's a beautiful night, not too hot, and there's a calm breeze blowing off the water. We're holding hands, a habit we've fallen into over the past two nights. I know it makes us look like a couple, but I don't mind pretending. 

Tomorrow at this time, I'll be back in DC. There are no more nights left for me to spend with Peeta.

I sigh heavily. Peeta turns to me and asks, "What's wrong?"

It takes a moment for me to respond. "I'm going home tomorrow."

"Yeah," he states flatly, staring at the shimmering surface of the water. He gently tugs on my hand and leads me to a bench. We sit side by side, our shoulders lightly brushing. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I know," I whisper. 

"What should we do, Katniss?" he asks glumly. "You remember the other night when I said I wasn't ready to let you go? I still feel that way."

I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel tears forming and I will _not_ let them fall. "I know, Peeta." I pause, unsure of how to continue. After thinking for a few minutes, I add, "I'm just not sure what this is between us. We haven't had any time to figure it out."

He puts his arm around me and I let my head fall heavily against his shoulder. "I'm not sure either, Katniss," he replies softly.

We sit together for several minutes in silence. Neither one of us is ready to speak - I think we might be afraid of what needs to be said.

I'm the one who has to leave though, so eventually I break the silence. "I want to see you again. But it might be best not to force it, you know?" I look up at him to see his reaction.

He stares silently at the lake, so I keep going. "Maybe we should just let nature take its course. If I come to Chicago again or you go to DC, we can see each other. If not, then…" I let the rest go unsaid.

Peeta turns to me, and raises his hand to lightly brush my cheek. "Is that what you really want, Katniss?" he asks. I see a sadness in his eyes that hasn't been there before.

We've only spent two days together. How could I make any kind of commitment under those circumstances? I'm methodical about every decision I make in my life - I don't do anything impulsively.

A voice in the back of my head reminds me of when I agreed to hang out with Peeta at the airport months ago. The _impulsive_ act that started me down this road in the first place. 

I push the thought aside. "Yes," I reply simply.

Inside I'm screaming, I'm falling apart, and I'm pretty sure I'm making a horrible mistake. But I keep my mask in place. 

He sighs and brings his other hand to my face. He just stares at me for a few seconds, as if he's memorizing my features. I stare back until I can't take it anymore. 

When I look up, Peeta leans forward and captures my lips with his. The kiss is lingering, sweet and sad at the same time. I move my hands to his neck unconsciously and cling to him, returning the kiss gently. Peeta breaks away too soon and wraps his arms around me. "I had to do that once," he murmurs.

As I bury my face in his chest, I realize I can't think of any better way to say goodbye.


	4. Four

It's Thursday evening and I'm on another airplane. This time I'm headed home. 

Last night I left Peeta for what is probably the last time. I think - no, I _know_ \- I made the right choice in leaving. I'm not going to get sucked into the inevitable heartache that comes with a long-distance relationship. 

I just wished he hadn't kissed me. Before, I only had a vague sense of what I would be missing if I never saw him again. But with that one kiss, everything changed. I could literally feel the connection we shared, and the depth of my feelings for him that I'd been so strenuously denying.

It didn't stop me from leaving, obviously - here I am on this airplane after all - but it makes the pain I'm feeling now so much worse. 

Suddenly I hear a a chiming noise and see the seatbelt sign on the ceiling illuminate. Over the intercom comes the familiar words, " _Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats._ "

I shift in my seat and look out the window. The plane shakes beneath me as we navigate through the clouds. There's really no point in even looking out the window - the white of the clouds is blinding me and there's nothing to see. No horizon, no sun, no blue skies. I wonder how long this storm is going to last.

I put away my laptop because the weather's become so turbulent that I can't type. It's just as well, because I hadn't gotten any work done anyway. I was just trying to use work as a distraction from my sadness. And to stop me from replaying last night's conversation with Peeta over and over again in my head. And to quiet the nagging voice telling me I'm making a mistake.

Now I don't have any distractions and all my doubts come rushing back. I can't understand why I'm feeling so empty right now. The weak, emotional part of me wants nothing more than to rush back into Peeta's arms and never leave. Thank god I'm on an airplane and I can't stop myself from hurtling away from him. 

It's too quiet on the plane right now and my mind goes where it wants to go, seemingly out of my control. When I think about holding Peeta's hands, feeling his arms around me, or his lips on mine… 

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. It's all too much. The tears that I've been fighting since I left Peeta last night finally start to fall. I lower my head onto the tray table in front of me and stop holding them back. 

I let myself cry silently for several minutes until I hear the sound of the flight attendant taking drink orders from the passengers seated in front of me. I sit up abruptly, cleaning my throat and wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. I'm so grateful that no one was seated next to me today.

I needed to cry and I would never have done it in front of another person.

The flight attendant approaches my row. "Miss, can I get you something to drink?" she asks politely.

"Just water please," I manage to choke out.

The flight attendant soon returns with my water and I gulp it down quickly. I lean my head against the seatback and sigh. I know exactly why a long-distance relationship with Peeta would be a bad idea. Gale Hawthorne taught me everything I needed to know about that.

It's sad what Gale's been reduced to in my head. An ex-boyfriend. A lesson. We used to be so much more than that. Growing up, Gale and I were best friends. We were inseparable from the time we met in grade school all the way through college. We even went to the University of Virginia together. 

In college, we finally gave in to the growing pressure from our friends and family who had always assumed we would end up together. We became a couple and happily dated during our time at the university. Gale was two years older than me, though, and he graduated when I was just finishing my sophomore year. He left to pursue his doctorate at the University of Arizona.

If we'd been a little older and wiser, we probably would have ended things then. But we fully bought into the thinking of our families and friends that we were meant to be together. I don't think either of us truly considered our own feelings. We attempted to stay together even with thousands of miles separating us and no money to spend on frivolous things like visiting each other.

Nothing horrible happened, though. There was no dramatic break-up, and neither of us cheated. We just…drifted apart. Gale and I simply didn't have the energy or the interest to put into maintaining our relationship. We were both busy at school, which had pretty much been the case the entire time we were dating, but at least we could see each other when we were both in Virginia.

After about a year, we reached a point where we hardly ever called and rarely bothered to write emails. When Gale was home visiting his family after his first year in Arizona - the first time we had seen each other since he graduated - he broke up with me. I didn't mind. Honestly, I was relieved that I could have my best friend back and forget the boyfriend stuff.

That wasn't what happened though. I never got my best friend back. He went back to Arizona and our contact dwindled to nothing. It was as if our friendship had never existed. Neither of us reached out to the other. I haven't spoken to Gale for at least four years now. I wouldn't even know how to contact him if I wanted to.

And I guess that's what I worry about with Peeta. Not necessarily that something horrible would happen, but that we'll just slowly stop caring about each other. Gale was such an important part of my life that I still mourn the loss of his friendship and his presence. And with Peeta, I can already tell that I could fall for him pretty hard if I let it happen. I feel like I'd lose another part of myself if I let him become too important to me and then lose him.

If I don't let myself get close to Peeta, then I _can't_ lose him.  
__________

It's late evening when I walk through through door of my apartment. I'm exhausted - physically and emotionally - and all I can think about right now is changing into my pajamas and going to bed. 

"Katniss, is that you?" Prim exclaims, poking her head out of the kitchen.

Taking off my backpack and throwing it on the nearest chair, I walk over and give her a hug. "Prim!" I greet her. "I wasn't sure if I you'd be here tonight or not." Even though Prim is still in orientation for her residency, she's had some late nights. Mostly social events where she's getting to know the other new residents.

"My evening was free tonight! And I had to clean up the apartment before Aunt Effie comes to visit this weekend," she says, holding her arms out and gesturing to the room around her. "Doesn't it look good in here?"

"It does," I respond, glancing around me. Between Prim's new residency and my travel, we'd been neglecting our cleaning duties. But Prim has remedied that. The apartment looks neat and tidy, just like it did the last time Effie visited. 

Prim turns towards me with her eyes narrowed. She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks at me critically. "You, on the other hand," she notes, shaking her head, "are looking kind of rough."

"Oh, come on, Prim! You know I just got back from a trip." I huff grumpily.

"Well, you don't usually look this bad," she retorts. "It must've been _some_ trip." 

She doesn't know the half of it. And I really don't feel like talking about it tonight, or ever. "I'm just really tired. I need some sleep," I explain, hoping that satisfies her.

Prim looks at me a bit suspiciously, but just shrugs her shoulders when she sees that I'm done talking. "Alright. Just make sure you get plenty of rest before Effie gets here tomorrow night."

"I will," I yawn, trudging up the steep staircase to my bedroom. Thankfully I'm not going back to work this week, so I don't have to immediately face anyone there. I'm not ready to talk about this trip yet, even the work aspect of it. I quickly change into my pajamas, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed.

I really am tired, I wasn't just saying that to deflect Prim's questions about the trip. But for some reason sleep doesn't come easily. Whenever I close my eyes, I see Peeta's face. And the deafening silence in the room isn't allowing me any escape from my thoughts, the same ones that have plagued me since I left him Wednesday night.

Eventually, after quite a bit of tossing and turning, my body and mind start to settle. I try to calm myself by focusing on more pleasant thoughts, like spending time with my family this weekend. They'll help me forget all about my worries. Keeping that comforting reassurance in my head, I slowly drift off to sleep.  
__________

Prim's head pops up from behind the refrigerator door where she's rummaging around. "Katniss, do we have any buttermilk?" she calls.

"I know I bought some yesterday - check in the door," I suggest.

I return to the pile of potatoes that I'm slowly trying to peel without cutting myself. Have I mentioned that I'm useless in the kitchen? 

It's Saturday night and Prim, Effie, and I are crowded into our tiny kitchen working on cooking dinner. Effie doesn't love visiting DC, but she comes because she wants to see us. She always feels uncomfortable when we try to take her out to any of the restaurants we love, so she insists on cooking for us. As much as Prim and I wish she would take the night off and let someone else cook, we don't complain because we _adore_ her cooking. 

Tonight she's making us our favorite - fried chicken. Prim finds the buttermilk and hands it to Effie, who begins pouring it over the pieces of chicken she just finished cutting up. Prim stands next to her, preparing the ingredients for the flour coating that will go on the chicken. They've pushed me to the other side of the kitchen, as far away from them as possible. (This isn't actually very far since our kitchen is so small.)

I'm such a disaster in the kitchen that I am always given the easiest, simplest tasks. Even so, I still generally find a way to screw up. Already tonight I somehow managed to hurt Prim's foot with a potato. It slipped out of my hand while I was peeling it, and the forward motion of the peeler caused it to catapult at the ground and onto Prim's foot. That was when they exiled me to the far corner of the kitchen.

Effie and Prim start an assembly line, coating the chicken with the wet and dry mixtures and putting the pieces into the frying pan. As the first of the chicken starts to sizzle, Effie turns to me. "How was your trip, dear?" she asks. "Where did you go again?"

"Chicago," I respond. "It was fine." 

I carefully place the peeled potatoes into a bowl and go sit down in the dining room. Now that all the prep work is done, I know they won't be needing my help anymore with the cooking. Prim takes the bowl and places the potatoes into a pot of water on the stove, preparing to boil them.

"Katniss was a _wreck_ when she got back, Aunt Effie," Prim adds helpfully. "I swear I've never seen anything like it."

Effie turns to me with a concerned look on her face. I cut her off before she can speak. "Prim's exaggerating. I was just tired after a long work week," I explain, glaring at my sister.

"Well, sweetie, I don't really understand your job, but I'm sure it's very stressful," Effie says absently as she turns the chicken. I'd given up trying to explain my career to Effie a few years ago. I'm pretty sure she tells people back home that I sell computers. They probably think I work at Best Buy.

By now I've drifted to the living room and turned on the TV. I can hear Effie and Prim continuing to cook as I flip through the channels.

"Did you at least get to do anything fun while you were in Chicago?" Effie asks.

"No," I respond immediately, without thinking. "Oh wait! Prim, I went to that one restaurant - you remember, the one we saw on the Food Network?"

Prims runs excitedly out of the kitchen, holding a potato masher in her hand. "The dessert restaurant?" she squeals. "How was it?"

"So good!" I enthuse. "We shared a plate of five creme brûlées. They were all different flavors-" I stop abruptly. Prim is staring at me suspiciously.

"What?" I demand.

"Who's 'we'?" she asks pointedly.

Ugh. I spoke too quickly for my own good. How do I answer her? Think, Katniss!

"I…uh…just me and someone I met." Wow. I couldn't do any better than that?

Prim sighs and walks back to her bowl of mashed potatoes. "Is this _someone_ male or female?"

"Male," I admit reluctantly. It's as if I'm incapable of lying.

"You had dinner with a young man, Katniss?" Effie asks. 

"Was it a date?" Prim adds.

I'm blushing furiously right now - thank god I'm in another room and they can't see me. I drop my face into my hands and flop backwards against the couch.

"I guess," I mumble through my fingers.

"Really?" Prim screeches. "You're telling us all about it while we eat. Come on, set the table already!"

Over dinner, Effie and Prim take turns quizzing me about Peeta and eventually the entire story pours out, starting back at the airport in January and going all the way through my trip earlier this week. Prim can't believe how close I came to never meeting him - she thinks that fate threw us together. Effie wholeheartedly agrees. I say it was just United Airlines.

The two of them can't stop gushing about how _romantic_ and _sweet_ Peeta sounds. They're practically swooning over their fried chicken. They want me to show them a picture, but of course I don't have any. I assure them that he's very handsome, but when they want me to describe what he looks like, I put my foot down.

"So," Prim asks, resting her chin on her hands and smiling dreamily, "when are you going to see him again?"

I swallow the food in my mouth. Might as well just be honest. "Most likely never," I respond bluntly.

Effie looks like I just stabbed her in the heart. "Excuse me?" she interjects, clearly shocked.

"Well," I stammer, "he lives in Chicago and I'm here, so I told him that it wouldn't work."

"Katniss Everdeen!" Effie says forcefully. "You find a nice man who you like and who treats you like a lady, and you won't even give him a chance? What am I going to do with you?"

I look over to Prim for help, but she's just staring at me with her mouth hanging open. Suddenly it snaps shut. "Does this have anything to do with Gale?" she asks.

My eyes widen and I stare down at my plate, unable to speak. Prim takes that as an affirmative response.

"You cannot let what happened with Gale dictate your entire future!" she exclaims.

Suddenly I snap. How dare she bring up Gale? "You know," I say angrily, my eyes darting between Prim and Effie, "it was partially the two of you saying that Gale and I were 'meant to be' that started that whole mess! And here you are, doing it again! And you don't even know Peeta!"

Effie reaches over and grabs my hand reassuringly. "Sweetie, we know we were wrong about Gale. And we're sorry," she intones softly.

"But Gale should have nothing to do with Peeta," Prim says. "And you're right - we don't know Peeta. We're just going by what _you_ told us. And it sounds like you like him an awful lot," she adds softly.

I feel tears starting to form, but I blink them away quickly. "You're right," I whisper. "I just don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything. Just think about it," Prim suggests.

I remain silent as we finish our meal. It's not that I'm mad at Prim or Effie, I'm just distracted by my thoughts again. I wish this weren't so hard.  
__________

"Morning, Plutarch!" I say, poking my head into his office.

He looks up at me and smiles widely. "Katniss! I heard great things from Capitol Consulting. Good work! Let's catch up later." 

"I'll find you when I have a minute," I promise, continuing down the hallway. I've just gotten back from my mid-morning workout. It's a great time of day to go to the gym - early mornings are usually packed, but if it gets too late, I start to get hungry for lunch. So I usually duck out around 10:00 and have the whole place to myself. 

Our office manager, Cecelia, stops me as I make my way to my office. "Katniss! Someone sent you a gift," she explains. "I put it on your desk. What a great way to start the week!" she exclaims.

I freeze, wracking my brains to try to figure out who would send me a gift. One of my clients, maybe? I shrug my shoulders. "Thanks Cecelia," I tell her as I hurry to see what it is. 

Sitting on my desk is a simple, unpretentious bouquet of dried lavender. It's beautiful and it smells heavenly. I must have made a very good impression on one of my clients. I am definitely telling Plutarch about this later - he'll be thrilled to know that I'm helping the business.

I place my bag of workout clothes on the floor and rush to look for a card or something to tell me who sent it. I find a small white envelope nestled amongst the blooms. Pulling it out, I eagerly rip it open.

I fall into my chair as I read what it says.

" _Just wanted to let you know that I'm not giving up. Love, Peeta._ "

A strange, excited feeling bubbles up within me as I read those words. And then I read them again. And again.

I run to close my office door and swivel my chair to face the window. I'm flattered that Peeta's still thinking of me. I lean back and stare at the ceiling.

What am I going to do?

Honestly, I don't want him to give up on me. I like the thought that maybe he's got more courage than I have and he's going to pursue this despite what I told him. _If_ that's what the card means.

But I'm also scared. After my conversation with Effie and Prim last weekend, I still haven't decided what, if anything, I would do about Peeta. Should I go back and tell him I changed my mind? Or continue with the status quo? When I'm this indecisive, I usually don't do anything.

I just didn't anticipate coming into work and finding that Peeta has already made the first move. Do I wait to see what he does next? I bounce in my seat, swiveling back around to stare at the lavender. 

I don't think I have the strength to push Peeta away again.

Before I can second-guess myself, I grab my phone and type a short message. " _I love the flowers. Thank you._ "

There. Not the boldest move in the world, but at least I did _something_. I walk slowly back to my office door and re-open it. Returning to my desk, I glance at my phone and see that Peeta hasn't responded. That's fine - he's probably at work. I take a deep breath and turn to my computer.

Just then my phone buzzes. I snatch it off my desk and look at the screen. 

" _I'm glad. I meant what I wrote, you know._ "

I don't quite know how to respond to that. As my fingers are hovering over my phone, waiting for me to think of something to say, another message comes.

" _Oh, and I'm not stalking you. I got your address from your business card._ "

I laugh to myself while reading that. I reply, " _You have too much info on me. Now I can't just disappear._ "

" _I wouldn't let you anyway._ "

I'm dying to know exactly what he means by all of this, but I try to stay playful. " _This is all very mysterious_ ," I type. " _Are you planning something?_ "

" _Maybe. You'll find out. ;)_ "  
__________

I'm spending another evening at home alone, just me, takeout from my favorite Thai place, and an episode of _House Hunters_. Prim's residency started at the beginning of this week, so I'm not expecting her home anytime soon. I'm just enjoying a typical Katniss evening. 

I put my feet flat on the floor and lean forward in anticipation as I continue to shovel noodles into my mouth. "Pick house number two!" I yell at the screen.

Just as the young couple on the TV is about to reveal which house they picked, I hear something. I mute the TV and strain my ears. Oops. It's the sound of my phone vibrating. I must've forgotten to turn the ringer on.

I run across the room and frantically fumble around in my purse, trying to locate the phone. I find it just before it goes to voice mail and put it to my ear quickly, not bothering to look at the screen and see who's calling.

"Hello?" I say breathlessly.

"Hi, Katniss?" responds the voice on the other end. I'd recognize it anywhere.

It's Peeta.

I stand in stunned silence for a few seconds. "Peeta?" I ask, even though I know it's him.

I walk across the room and grab the remote, turning off the TV. I sink down on the couch.

"Yep, it's me," he responds. "Um…how are you doing?"

"I'm fine…" I say in a somewhat confused tone. Why is he calling? There must be a reason.

"You're not busy right now?" he asks quickly.

"No."

"Okay, good. I'm calling for a couple of reasons," he continues. "First, I want to tell you something and then I want to ask you something."

"Alright…" I say hesitantly.

He pauses and I can hear him take a deep breath. "It was stupid of me to let you go the other day. I really think there's…something happening between us, Katniss."

I look around the room in shock. I don't know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn't _this_.

He continues, "I need to know if you feel the same way."

"Is that your question?" I ask him.

"What?" he replies, sounding confused.

"You said you wanted to tell me something and ask me something," I remind him.

"Oh…no. I'm still in the 'telling you something' part. I'll ask my question later…maybe," he mumbles.

I close my eyes, as if that will make it easier to confess this over the phone. "Well…yes, I feel the same. But I don't know if that changes anything," I add.

"Why not?" he pleads.

I'm not ready to have this conversation. I haven't even made up my own mind yet, and now I have to take a position on this. I fall back on my old stance. "Because you live in Chicago and I live in DC."

He sighs. "You said that last week. I've decided I don't care anymore. I want you, wherever you are."

"But Peeta, we don't even know each other well enough to know if this is worth-"

He cuts me off. "I know enough to be absolutely sure that I want to try."

I rub my free hand over my eyes. "Wouldn't you rather date someone you could actually see on a regular basis?" I persist.

Why am I trying so hard to talk him out of this?

"I don't know anyone who makes me feel as happy as you do," he states. "I already told you I wasn't going to give up."

I sigh loudly but remain silent otherwise. I don't know what else to say.

Peeta breaks the silence. "You just told me you felt the same as me, but…" he trails off. "Do you have a boyfriend or something you're not telling me about?" he asks bluntly.

"No!" I exclaim loudly. "No…and I was telling you the truth. It killed me to leave you last week." There. I'm putting it all on the table.

"So what are we fighting about?" he asks gently.

I sigh heavily. "This is hard," I admit.

Silence again fills the air between us. "It is," Peeta agrees. "But let's do it anyway." I can hear the smile in his voice.

I laugh softly. "Alright," I agree.

"So now that I got that out of the way," he continues, "I wanted to ask you something."

I sit up straighter at this. I'm dying to hear more. "Go ahead," I urge him.

"This - whatever we have - it isn't going to work if we never see each other," he starts.

"I completely agree."

"You came to Chicago, so now I think it's time I come see you. What do you say?" he asks eagerly.

"That sounds like a great idea," I reply. "But when?"

"I was thinking…Friday? If that works for you, of course." he says somewhat sheepishly.

My jaw drops. It actually does work for me…but wow, this is sudden. It's Wednesday already. Still, I can't think of any reason to say no.

"Um…okay, let's do it," I tell him.

"Really?" He sounds like he wasn't expecting me to agree.

"Yes, really!"

"Then let me text you my flight information, and-"

"You're staying with me, right?" I ask abruptly.

He sputters for a moment. "I…uh…wasn't sure you'd want me to. But I can," he adds quickly.

"Well, we have an air mattress we use for guests. You can use that." I pause, thinking. "If we're giving this thing a try, I just want us to be able to spend as much time as possible together," I continue shyly.

"I can't wait to see you, you know that?" Peeta asks softly.

"I can't wait to see you either."

"Friday then," he states happily.

"I'll be waiting at the airport," I confirm.

We say goodnight and I put my phone on the table. I lean back on the sofa in disbelief. What just happened?

Am I ready for this?  
__________

I'm far too worked up to sleep after my conversation with Peeta, so I decide to wait up for Prim to come home. I want to see her reaction when I tell her that she'll get to meet Peeta this weekend. She's going to freak out.

It's almost midnight and I'm watching old Seinfeld reruns when I hear the key rattling in the door. Prim walks in, clearly exhausted, and throws her bag down at her feet. She turns around and jumps when she sees me sitting there.

"Katniss! What are you still doing up?" she asks, flopping down next to me on the couch.

"Couldn't sleep," I say, flipping the TV off. "How was your day?" 

"Brain overload," she groans. "There's so much to learn!"

"It's your own fault," I tease. "You decided to become a doctor."

Prim rolls her eyes and hits me with a pillow. Then she cocks her head sideways suspiciously. "Why are you _smiling_ so much?" she demands. "This is not normal Katniss behavior."

I attempt to compose myself. "I have some news," I say mysteriously.

"Spit it out!"

"Peeta called me tonight," I tell her.

She launches herself off the couch. "No!"

"Yes," I confirm.

"What did you talk about?" she asks, sitting back down beside me.

"Lots of stuff. But long story short, he said he felt stupid for letting me go and wants to come visit," I explain.

Prim grabs my hands and squeezes them tight. She's practically bouncing with excitement. "So what did you tell him?" she squeals.

"You'll be proud of me, Prim. I told him we could give it a shot," I say, smiling widely.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" Prim hyperventilates. She reaches forward and hugs me. "When is he coming?"

"Friday."

"Friday?!" she exclaims in disbelief. "He _must_ be in love with you, Katniss. I don't even want to imagine how much that plane ticket cost him."

"Is it okay if he stays here?" I ask her seriously.

"Wow, you guys sure are moving fast," Prim teases.

I glare at her. "I mean down here on the air mattress," I clarify.

Prim gives my shoulder a playful shove. "I'm joking - of course it's fine," she says. Then her eyes narrow and her mouth twists into a frown. "But maybe I should find somewhere else to stay this weekend. You know, give you guys some alone time," she worries.

I shake my head adamantly. "No way, Prim. I want everything this weekend to be normal," I tell her. "Besides, Peeta knows we live together. I don't want him to think I cleared you out of the apartment so we could… _you know_ ," I say self-consciously. 

"Whatever do you mean, Katniss?" Prim gives me her best innocent look. "Please enlighten me."

I giggle and smack her with a pillow. "Enough! But seriously, Prim, Peeta and I aren't even a couple yet. We're just going to see what happens, okay?"

Prim nods, her face growing serious. She puts her arms around me and leans her head on my shoulder. "I'm happy for you, though," she tells me. "I hope this works out. You deserve it."

I hug her back. "I hope so too," I whisper.  
__________

I shift back and forth on my feet nervously and look at my watch. I pull out my phone and see that it very clearly says that Peeta's flight from Chicago has landed. 

He'll be here any minute.

I'm standing in a small crowd of people who are all waiting for their loved ones to emerge from the concourse in front of us. I crane my head as a the trickle of passengers leaving the concourse turns into a steady stream. I don't know if these people are from Peeta's flight or not. 

When I see him walking towards me, I can't stop the huge smile that breaks onto my face. "Peeta!" I call to him, waving. As he sees me, his eyes light up and he hurries in my direction. 

He puts his bag on the ground and opens his arms to me. "Come here."

I walk into his arms without hesitation, wrapping mine around his waist and leaning my head on his shoulder. He buries his face in my hair. "I missed you," he whispers.

I pull back and stare into his eyes. "Missed you too," I tell him, resting my hand lightly on his cheek.

We lose track of time as we gaze at each other in disbelief. I'm not sure either of us can believe we're here. I can't think of the words to tell him exactly how I'm feeling.

But suddenly, that doesn't matter anymore because Peeta leans in and gives me a soft, gentle, and all too brief kiss.

It's not enough.

I pull him towards me again and capture his mouth with mine eagerly, trying to pour everything I'm feeling - everything that I can't express in words - into this kiss. He responds immediately, tangling one of his hands in my hair and returning the kiss with fervor. Eventually, we break apart, shyly smiling at each other as we rest our foreheads together.

"You know why I'm here, right, Katniss?" he asks quietly. 

I nod. "I know."

We hold each other silently for a few minutes as other passengers stream around us. We ignore them all, completely lost in each other.

"I came here for _you_ ," he continues. He backs slightly away from me and tips my chin up to look at him. "I'm going to convince you we can make this work," he says confidently. "I don't want to have to let you go again."

I can't tell him what he wants to hear yet, because I honestly don't know if we can make this work. But what I do tell him is completely true. "I'm ready to give it a try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments! And come say hi on tumblr (so-amazing-here).


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued support for this story! It blows my mind that people are actually enjoying this. Special thanks to my beta sunfishdunes - when you're done reading this, please go check out her story Reprieve.
> 
> As always, come say hi on tumblr (so-amazing-here) or twitter (@soamazinghere).
> 
> Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games.

“So, I usually take the Metro here, but for you, I actually drove,” I joke with Peeta as we walk hand-in-hand through the airport to my car. “You should feel special,” I say, smiling. “We won’t have to share our ride home with the weirdos on the train at 10 p.m.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Peeta responds with mock sincerity, placing a quick peck on my temple.

After a short walk to the parking garage, we reach my car and are quickly on our way. Peeta only brought one small bag with him so we were able to avoid visiting baggage claim. 

“You travel light!” I exclaim as I pull my car into the traffic heading toward DC. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“What do you mean?” he asks. “I’m only here until Sunday.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” I reply, shaking my head. “I can’t take fewer than two bags with me on any trip that involves an overnight.”

He laughs and settles back into his seat. As we cross the bridge into the city, Peeta sits up straighter and peers out his window in awe. “You can see everything from here!” he notes. “Did I tell you I’ve never been to DC before?” 

“What?” I say, surprised. I look at him out of the corner of my eye. He doesn’t notice – he’s too busy taking in the sights. “I hadn’t planned on doing a lot of ‘tourist’ stuff this weekend, but we can if you want,” I tell him.

He turns toward me and takes my right hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “I think you know that I’m not here to be a tourist, Katniss,” he says softly.

I gently pull my hand away and place it back on the steering wheel, blushing furiously. It’s dark outside, so I hope he can’t see me. When Peeta says things like that, it makes me nervous. I remember that he’s not here for just a friendly weekend trip. He’s here to see _me_.

“Umm…right,” I say, biting my lip. “I…uhh…” I trail off, unsure how to continue.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks. “Your legs are shaking.”

I look down quickly at my lap. Yep, I didn’t even realize I was doing it, but I’m shaking my legs. Nervous tic. I take a deep breath and consciously will my legs to stop bouncing.

“It’s nothing.” I lie, staring at the road in front of me as I exit the highway.

Peeta sees right through me and persists in his questioning. “Are you worried about me being here?” he asks.

I exhale sharply, flustered. He can read me too well, given that we haven’t known each other for long. It’s a bit unsettling. “I’m not _worried_ ,” I answer truthfully, attempting to reassure him. “Just…nervous,” I admit. “I mean, you just flew all the way from Chicago to see me. I feel like I’ve got to make this a good weekend.”

“Katniss, please don’t be nervous,” Peeta requests, rubbing his hand up and down my arm. “If I get to spend the entire weekend with you, this will already be one of the best trips I’ve ever taken. I don’t need you to do anything.”

I bite my lip, but smile inwardly. How does he always have a perfect, charming response to everything? And more importantly, why in the world is he interested in _me_?

Thankfully, I’m able to change the subject because we’re approaching my house. “So, this is my neighborhood,” I explain as I slow down to navigate the car through the small residential streets. “My sister and I rent the top two floors of a rowhouse.”

“It looks nice,” Peeta responds, glancing around him at the colorful, well-kept houses lining the street. “I love the look of these old homes.”

“We like it here,” I agree. Pointing out the window at a three-story green building with large bay windows, I tell him, “There’s our house. But our last challenge of the night is going to be finding a parking space.”

No one has driveways in our neighborhood, and this late at night, most of the street parking is taken. Peeta helps me look for spots until we finally find one a few blocks away. I’m glad he only has his small bag to carry for the walk back to the house.

We both climb out of the car and I wait on the sidewalk as Peeta pulls his bag from the back seat. I put my hand out for him to take, but he surprises me by pulling me to him abruptly and kissing me. I melt into him.

“What was that for?” I ask when he pulls away.

“You may be nervous, but I’m excited,” he answers, giving me one of his beautiful smiles. He slips his arm around my waist as we stroll towards my house. Leaning his head closer to mine, he whispers, “And I intend to make the most of every minute we have together.”  
__________

Peeta follows me as I trudge up the steep staircase to my second-floor apartment. Fumbling in the lock with my keys, I kick open the door and flick on the lamp that sits on a small table near the door. Prim is working late tonight, so the apartment is completely silent.

“Here we are,” I say as I dart through the living room, turning on more lights. “Make yourself at home. Do you need anything – food, drink, bathroom?” I ask absently, surreptitiously looking to ensure that I didn’t leave anything embarrassing lying around.

Peeta places his bag on the floor near the front door and takes in his surroundings. “No, I’m fine.” He turns to me, smiling and raising his eyebrows. “Do I get the grand tour?” 

“Of course!” I laugh nervously, gesturing for him to follow me. A tour will probably take all of one minute. The apartment is fairly small. “You can see almost the entire first floor from where you’re standing. We’re in the living room.” I walk a few feet to my right, pointing at a small table with four chairs. “This might look like part of the living room, but it’s actually the dining room.” I continue to the back of the apartment and hold open a small swinging door for Peeta to walk through. “And this is _not_ a closet – it’s our kitchen.” 

Peeta turns to me with an incredulous look on his face. “How do you do anything in here? This is the tiniest kitchen I’ve ever seen.”

“We hardly ever cook,” I explain, grabbing his hand and pulling him back out of the room. “And it’s just as well, because I’d probably burn the house down if I tried.”

I hear Peeta chuckling behind me as I lead him toward the stairs. I jog up and quickly flip on the hallway light at the top. “The first two doors up here are my bedroom and Prim’s,” I tell him, gesturing, “and the bathroom is at the back of the hall.”

I turn around suddenly and nearly run into Peeta, who’s standing directly behind me. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around my waist. I grasp his upper arms, suddenly feeling shy. He looks me in the eyes and we smile at each other happily. I can’t believe he’s really here.

“And…that’s everything,” I whisper, breaking our eye contact.

Peeta doesn’t respond immediately – he simply places his hand under my chin, lifting it so that my gaze is forced to return to his. It’s too much for me to look directly at him for long – something in his eyes is just too intense for me to take right now – so I move forward and bury my face in his neck, holding him tightly. 

He gently kisses my hair and I take a step backwards, clearing my throat. “Sorry Prim isn’t here,” I say brightly, trying to break the tension in the air. “She really wanted to meet you, but she works late a lot.” Turning my back to him, I start to slowly lead the way back downstairs. I don’t think I can handle the temptation of being this close to him so near my bedroom.

As I walk down the stairs, I hear Peeta follow me after a moment of hesitation. We continue silently into the living room and I flop down in a chair. I’m purposely avoiding the couch – Peeta and I seem to be having trouble keeping our hands to ourselves this evening, and I don’t trust myself in such close proximity to him. 

I tap my hands nervously on the armrests as I try to think of something innocuous to say. Peeta stares at me expectantly. Looking around the room, my eyes land on the box with the air mattress in it. I jump up, relieved to have found a distraction. “I almost forgot,” I say, practically running to the box. “Let me get the mattress set up for you.” 

Peeta walks over and helps me get everything set up. I furtively scoot away from him to the opposite side of the mattress. As it inflates, I turn to him apologetically. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping down here. We don’t have much extra space, as you can see.” Only in my bed, which obviously isn’t happening. “Prim promised to be quiet when she comes home later,” I add.

“I guess I _am_ getting tired,” Peeta admits, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. He exposes a small expanse of his stomach as he does this, and I have to avert my gaze. I pretend to be engrossed in reading the instructions for the mattress.

“You can go upstairs and get ready if you want,” I offer, not looking up from what I’m reading. “I can finish up down here.”

“Okay,” he agrees, grabbing his bag and jogging up the stairs. A few seconds later I hear the bathroom door slam shut. I slump down on the floor and exhale deeply. Collecting myself, I cover the now-inflated mattress with fresh sheets and a place a blanket nearby just in case. It’s pretty hot in our apartment in the summer, even with the air conditioning, so I doubt he’ll need it. 

I can’t think of anything else to do, so I perch nervously on the edge of the couch, tapping my feet. I briefly turn on the TV, but quickly think better of it. I don’t want an excuse to stay up any later. I need to get to bed so that I can reflect on what I’m feeling and get a little space from Peeta. And from my overwhelming urge to feel his hands on me again. 

He’s been touching me a lot tonight and I’m really starting to _like_ it. Too much. I need to be able to think rationally if I’m going to make a decision about where our relationship is heading. 

I hear Peeta walking down the stairs and I quickly bolt to a standing position. He notices me standing stiffly by the couch and gives me an odd look as he places his bag down by the mattress. 

He’s changed into what I assume are his pajamas – an old t-shirt and athletic shorts. Now his legs are uncovered and I’m seeing them for the first time. He seems to notice me staring and I quickly shake my head, clearing out the thoughts of seeing _other_ parts of him unclothed. I’ve got to get out of here.

“Well, I think I better get to bed now,” I say casually, inching my way toward the stairs. “Umm…sleep as late as you want in the morning. I don’t have any specific plans.”

“I work in a bakery,” he reminds me. “I’m so used to getting up early, I couldn’t sleep in if I wanted to.”

“Right,” I laugh nervously. “I’ll try not to sleep in too late then.”

I stand awkwardly at the foot of the stairs, glancing up at my bedroom door. “Uh…goodnight.” I say hesitantly. But I don’t move. 

Finally I take a few tentative steps toward Peeta, gathering my courage and moving faster, planting a kiss on his lips before I can talk myself out of it. He returns the kiss immediately, putting his hand on the back of my head, but I break the contact quickly. 

Peeta stares at me with an amused look in his eyes as I back away. “Goodnight, Katniss.” 

I give him one last look before I run upstairs. I quickly get ready, change, and drop heavily onto my bed. Peeta’s only been here for a few hours, and this trip is already not going as I planned.

I guess that all along I’d been thinking that I would see Peeta, spend time with him, and calmly assess whether I wanted anything more from our relationship. I’d make a well-informed decision and then we would move forward, together or separately. Simple.

But Peeta has some kind of pull on me that I can’t understand or explain. All I know is that it’s nothing I’ve experienced before. It’s almost primal – it’s as though I can’t bear to be in his presence and not touch him. This is seriously interfering with my efforts to think rationally.

I turn onto my side and stare into the darkness of my bedroom. Getting into a new relationship is serious business – I can’t let myself get distracted by these _feelings_. Making this work long-distance will take a lot of dedication, planning, and thinking. It won’t be easy.

My mind wanders though, to the feeling of Peeta’s warm hands, his soft lips, his comforting embrace. I want more. 

I shake my head. I’m not letting myself jump into this. Maybe what I need is a good night’s sleep. Everything will be clearer in the morning.  
__________

The sun is streaming through my bedroom window the next time I open my eyes. In the light of day, I can honestly say that I'm feeling a little better than I was last night. Everything seems less intimidating and less nerve-wracking in the sunlight. It always does.

I can faintly hear the sounds of someone moving around downstairs. Peeta, probably. It can’t be Prim – she should have gotten home pretty late last night, so most likely she’s still asleep. It sounds like he’s opening and closing the kitchen cabinets. I wonder if he’s looking for something – I should probably go downstairs and check.

What time is it, anyway? Glancing at my nightstand, I realize that I left my phone downstairs after arriving home last night. I wish I still owned a watch. Or an alarm clock. But I don’t want to waste what little time I have to spend with Peeta this weekend, so I force myself out of bed.

“Peeta?” I whisper loudly as I reach the bottom of the stairs. The kitchen door swings open and he emerges, already dressed and showered. I must’ve been sound asleep this morning because I didn’t hear him come upstairs at all.

“Morning, Katniss,” he says as he crosses the apartment to give me a hug. I lean into his chest, closing my eyes and yawning.

“Good morning,” I mumble sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Almost 8 o’clock,” he informs me, taking my hand and leading me to the couch. We sit down and he puts his arm around my shoulders. “I was looking for something to make for breakfast, but you don’t seem to keep food in the house,” he says, giving me an amused look.

“Um, yeah,” I sigh, settling into him. “We pretty much just eat takeout. I didn’t figure you’d want to waste time cooking this weekend anyway.” 

He chuckles. “Some of us _like_ cooking, you know. You make it sound like a chore.”

“It is,” I nod. “I thought we’d go out for breakfast today.”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Peeta teases. I relax into him further as he starts absently stroking my hair.

Just then, I hear the telltale sounds of creaking floorboards above me. Prim must be awake. Either we woke her up or she’s making a special effort to meet Peeta. Probably the latter – she’s been dying to see him. 

I nudge Peeta with my shoulder and gesture at the ceiling with my chin. “That’s Prim,” I tell him. “She must be awake. Did you hear her come home last night?”

“No,” Peeta shakes his head. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Good,” I say, standing up and stretching my arms over my head. I furrow my brow and stare at the ceiling. Prim seems to be running frantically around her room. I walk over to the bottom of the stairs and yell, “Prim! Is everything okay?”

Suddenly I see her door fly open. “Katniss!” Prim calls, her head popping out from behind the door. “You’re still here? Oh good, I was hoping to catch you before you left.”

“Take your time,” I shout back. “I’m not even dressed yet.”

I turn away from the staircase, crossing the room to the kitchen. “Do you want any tea, Peeta?” I ask. “That’s one food item we definitely have in the house.”

He follows me across the room and sits down at our dining table. “Sure.”

As I put water into the kettle, I hear the sounds of Prim bouncing down the stairs. She runs to the table and sits down next to Peeta, jutting out her hand. “I’m Prim. I’m _so_ excited to meet you!” she gushes.

“I’m Peeta,” he says, smiling as he shakes her hand.

“I know! Katniss told me all about you!”

“Really?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in my direction as I emerge from the kitchen holding two steaming mugs of green tea. “Good things?”

“Of course!” Prim enthuses. “I’ve never heard anything more romantic than the story of how you met at the airport. Did you know that I was supposed to be the one stuck there, not Katniss? She volunteered to take my place!”

“No, Katniss never mentioned that.” He eyes me curiously.

“You two were meant to be,” she says dreamily. I wish she had a filter, but my sister has always said whatever pops into her head. I cough nervously and pretend to be intently looking at the pictures hanging on the wall.

Peeta leans closer to Prim. “I think you’re right,” he agrees, winking at me. My mouth drops open in shock. How can he be saying these things? And in front of my sister?

Prim grabs Peeta’s arm and nods excitedly. “You just have to convince _her_ of that, right?” she asks, pointing in my direction.

I sit silently, nursing my tea and trying not to blush. 

“That’s why I’m here,” Peeta tells her, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

Prim sighs. “Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you, Peeta. She’s a tough one,” she notes, giving me a disapproving look.

I don’t like where this conversation is heading, so I attempt to change the subject. “Peeta and I were getting ready to head out. What are your plans for the day, Prim?”

“I’ll be gone all day,” she says, standing and making her way toward the front door to look for her purse. “I’m playing tour guide for some of the new residents. Probably won’t be back until late.” She shoots me a suggestive look.

I roll my eyes. She’s so obvious. “Well, call me if you want to get together with us later,” I offer, purposely trying to annoy her.

She stops as she’s opening the front door and looks at me incredulously. “I will definitely _not_ be calling you,” she replies. Waving at Peeta, she adds, “Nice to meet you! Good luck!”

The door slams behind her as she leaves the house. I turn slowly in my chair toward Peeta. “So…that’s my sister.”

“I like her. She’s on my side,” Peeta remarks as he reaches over and squeezes my hand.

I smile and look down at my tea. “She definitely is,” I agree. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I see that it’s almost 9 o’clock and we haven’t eaten yet. “Do you want to get some breakfast? I’m starving.” 

Peeta agrees and I make my way upstairs to get ready for the day. It dawns on me that it’s the first full day we've ever spent together. I don't know how it's possible, but somehow I'm simultaneously excited, nervous…and ready to see where this takes us.  
__________

I take Peeta to the Eastern Market and we chat easily over blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Walking through the indoor part of the market, I point out some of my favorite vendors. He doesn’t seem to believe that I would even have favorite vendors at a market, but I explain to him that Prim knows how to cook (not that she has much time for it anymore), and I am perfectly capable of _shopping_ for food. We look every bit the happy couple as we stroll hand-in-hand through the stalls.

We move outside. It’s a beautiful morning for June: warm and sunny, but not humid. I’m feeling very content in this moment, just being here with Peeta. 

“How long have you lived here, Katniss?” Peeta asks as we browse through the outdoor flea market. 

“Do you mean here, in this neighborhood? Or in DC?” 

“Either,” he shrugs absently.

“Prim and I just moved to this neighborhood in May. And I’ve lived in DC since grad school, so let’s see…that’s about four years,” I state.

“Hmm,” he intones, giving me a sideways glance. “And before that?”

“I lived in Virginia my entire life before I moved here,” I answer.

He looks at me and opens his mouth, as if he wants to ask more. He closes it and sighs, turning back to examine the table in front of him. 

“What is it?” I ask.

He continues without looking at me, “You haven’t talked much about your family, aside from Prim.”

_Oh_. I know where this is going. I suppose this would have come up eventually. I don’t mind telling him about my family, but I don’t want him to start feeling sorry for me. I decide to keep it short.

“My mom and dad passed away. We don’t have any other family to speak of,” I say, eyeing him surreptitiously to gauge his reaction. Not seeing anything alarming, I decide to tell him a bit more. “We were raised by my mom’s friend Effie.”

Peeta hesitates before continuing. “So your parents…have been gone a long time?”

“Since I was eleven.”

He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, so I take pity on him. I place my hand on his arm and give him a small smile when he looks at me. “It’s okay,” I reassure him. “I don’t talk about them much, but it’s alright for you to ask. I guess we don’t really know that much about each other’s families,” I muse.

He nods slowly and we start to drift away from the bustle of the market. His arm slips around my waist as we walk down the street in silence for a few moments.

I poke him in the side, trying not to let him brood too much on this information about my family. “Your turn,” I prod him.

“Huh?” 

“I told you about my family, now you tell me about yours,” I clarify. “I only know your dad and your brother.”

He chews on this lip thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not going to get into the whole extended family,” he begins, “but let’s see…I have another brother, Ryan. And my mom…well, she and my dad divorced when we were just kids. I haven’t seen her in years. That’s pretty much it.”

Without thinking, I slip my arm around his waist, mirroring where his arm currently rests on me. We walk a bit further before I ask, “Why haven’t you seen your mom for so long?”

I feel him shrug. “I don’t know. It’s her choice. To be honest, I don’t think she ever really wanted kids,” he admits sadly.

I lean my head on his shoulder and turn my face to the sky, relishing the feeling of the warm sun. Peeta tightens his grip on my waist. This conversation is weighing us both down. I try to focus on the feeling of being so close to Peeta. He’s the most comforting thing I’ve had in my life for a long time. I could really get used to having him around.

But the nagging voice in my head reminds me that he lives 700 miles away. He’s never really going to be _around_.

“What do you want to do with the rest of our day?” I ask him, straightening up and attempting to inch away from him.

He seems to sense what I’m doing, and if anything, he holds onto me tighter. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you.”  
__________

We’re having dinner at one of my favorite Middle Eastern places. Peeta badly wanted to cook for me, but I managed to talk him out of it. I want him to myself this evening, not off in the kitchen preparing food.

I hope he doesn’t judge me for it, but the place I brought him to is fairly popular and trendy. It’s a large restaurant, and you can tell from the modern décor and the sweeping open spaces that a ton of money was poured into the design. It’s not at all like the little Polish restaurant he took me to in Chicago. I’m not trying to impress him; I honestly love this place – it’s not _just_ flashy design, the food is really good too. 

Peeta’s gone to the bar to get us some drinks, and I’m absently staring into space and nibbling on a piece of flatbread. I’ve enjoyed my time with Peeta today – _really_ enjoyed it. More than I ever thought I would. He and I spent the afternoon walking along the Mall on the pretense of looking at the memorials and seeing some of touristy DC, but I don’t think he saw any of it. I know I didn’t. I was far too distracted by his hands…and his lips…

I smile widely at the pleasant memory. The couple at the next table looks at me a bit strangely and I quickly duck my head, hiding behind my hair. The only thing stopping me from completely enjoying my time with Peeta is the knowledge that he’s returning home tomorrow. In less than 24 hours.

I sigh heavily and stare at my lap as a feeling of dread washes over me. I didn’t realize that I would be so affected by his upcoming departure. Yes, I knew it would be hard – I knew I was becoming attached to him – but I never thought it would be _this_ hard. If he and I were really, truly together, could I survive feeling like this at the end of every visit? And how would I feel during the long stretches that we were apart?

I’m ruminating on this when I see Peeta returning from the bar with our drinks – and with a confused look on his face. I straighten up and lean forward, peering at him questioningly. He carefully places our drinks on the table and takes his seat before he bursts out laughing.

“What is it?” I ask, eyes wide.

He holds his finger up while he catches his breath. He attempts to speak but then buries his face in his arms on the table, trying to muffle his laughter. 

Finally he’s able to talk again. “Well, Katniss, it looks like I’m going to have to head back to Chicago early.”

“Excuse me?” Now I’m confused. And a little offended.

“I ran into a guy at the bar and he _warned_ me about you. I think he said you were a bitch, but he was rambling…and drunk.” Peeta looks amused by this, but I’m livid.

“Who was it?” I demand, scanning the faces at the bar. Who would say that about me?

Peeta leans over until he spots the culprit. “Right there,” he indicates. I’m still not sure who he’s referring to. “The guy with the beard,” he adds.

As soon as he mentions a beard, I know who he’s talking about. Seneca. I’ve barely seen him since we ended things and we’re in the same restaurant? Tonight of all nights? This is just my luck.

Peeta is raising his eyebrows at me, asking an unspoken question. I huff loudly and reluctantly share the details. “He and I dated…briefly. Before my trip to Chicago,” I hastily add. “He was kind of pissed when I ended things.”

“You…and him?” Peeta asks incredulously. “He is _not_ your type.”

“How would you know?” I retort, annoyed. Peeta responds with an eye roll and an exasperated look. “Okay,” I admit, “he’s not my type. We work in the same building, he asked me out, we went on a few dates, and that was it. Guess I made more of an impression on him that I thought,” I mumble.

“You do have a tendency to do that,” Peeta says, reaching across the table and linking his fingers with mine. “I just hope Katniss Everdeen doesn’t break my heart someday, too,” he jokes. 

“Not possible,” I reply, laughing. “Peeta Mellark is clearly the only heartbreaker at this table.”

We’re both teasing, but there’s a tension in the air as well. I think we’re both worried about where things are headed between us. We haven’t explicitly talked about it this weekend, so the question of whether or not we’re _actually_ a couple is hanging over us. Me, mostly. I know Peeta’s letting me make the decision. He’s made it perfectly obvious what he wants. 

But I’m still not ready to decide. 

Mercifully, we are distracted at that moment by the waiter bringing our food. We come back to Earth and cast the bigger questions aside for the remainder of the evening.  
__________

Things have escalated fairly quickly and I’ve got to put a stop to it before I lose control. 

After a lovely dinner, we take the Metro back to my apartment and somehow we end up _here_. That is, on my couch, me straddling him, kissing each other so frantically you’d think the world’s about to end.

_Soon_. I’ll stop this soon. But I want to enjoy it just a little bit longer.

My hands tangle in his hair, gently tugging as our lips and tongues dance together. One of his hands has slipped underneath my shirt and rests, warm and soft, on my lower back. The contact with my skin feels so incredibly good. His other hand is gripping my hip and pulling me insistently toward him. We’re struggling to meld our bodies as close together as physically possible. 

We break apart to catch our breath, panting and leaning our foreheads together. I grasp the sides of his face and stare into his eyes. The lust I see reflected back at me is so intense, it’s all I can do not to drag him to my bedroom.

His hand cradles the back of my head and pulls my mouth back to his. This time, I make a conscious effort to slow the kiss and try to calm the emotions raging inside me. He seems to sense a change in my mood – he pulls away and buries his face in my shoulder.

“You okay?” he mumbles.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, it’s just…Prim could be home anytime,” I lie. She could, but that’s not really my biggest concern right now.

Peeta nods and wraps his arms around me tightly. I don’t have to say it – he understands. I slowly shift off of his lap until I’m sitting next to him. I angle sideways and slide my arms around his waist, resting my head on his chest. I close my eyes and try to just focus on how happy I’m feeling _right now_.

As Peeta and I hold each other, I realize that I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable and…safe. I know without a doubt that this is where I want to stay. What I don’t know is if I have the strength to admit that to Peeta. 

“Katniss?” Peeta whispers suddenly. 

“Hmm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

I tense up. What should I say to him? What do I have the courage to say to him? “I’m feeling really happy here,” I answer truthfully. “Don’t let go, okay?”

His hand moves to stroke my hair reassuringly. “I won’t,” he says softly. “I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he pauses. “But you already know that.”

I do. And I also know what he’s not saying. He’s being so patient with me, trying to let me come to a decision about our future on my own time, at my own pace. He wants to ask me more, but he won’t. I wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for me.  
__________

The ride to the airport is tense. Obviously this is the moment that I’ve been dreading most all weekend, and it’s only gotten worse as I’ve been slowly coming to terms with the depth of my feelings for Peeta over the course of the weekend.

But I have I told him? _No_.

It’s not that I don’t want to tell him, I do. At least, some part of me does. But the part of me that’s in control right now is scared-out-of-her-mind Katniss. 

I’m scared of a lot of things. Scared of how intense my feelings are, scared of how much I’m going to miss him….and _terrified_ of the day when inevitably I’ll lose him. 

After all, I know it’s only a matter of time.

Peeta’s never once brought up the issue of where we stand – he wants me to do that. I wonder if he realizes by now that I’m not going to. It’s the easiest way to avoid the conversation. 

We haven’t even talked about when, or if, we’ll see each other again. 

I pull up in front of the airport and we both get out of the car. Peeta places his bag on the ground and crushes me to his chest, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe. I’m doing the same to him. 

He pulls his head back to look at me, all the while keeping me wrapped securely in his arms. “Katniss, this weekend’s only made me more certain about us,” he says seriously. “I can’t just leave you like this.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I wish you didn’t have to,” I choke out, blinking back tears. 

He pulls me back to him, but not before I see that his eyes have filled with tears as well. “Promise me we’ll see each other soon,” he whispers.

“We will,” I promise, wiping my tears onto his shirt. “I’ll call you as soon as you get home and–” 

“Are you going to think about this, Katniss? If there’s the possibility of _us_?” he asks impatiently. I imagine he’s wanted to say something along these lines all weekend.

“Yes, of course…I…” I trail off, struggling to find the right words. I pull back and look him directly in the eyes, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with my thumb. “I don’t doubt how you feel for a second. I think I might feel the same,” I add shyly. “I just need a little more time to think.”

Peeta takes my hands in his. “I don’t want _you_ to have any doubts,” he tells me. “Let’s just try to figure this out soon, okay?”

“We will.”

Peeta leans down and gives me a long, sweet goodbye kiss, before he turns and walks away. I stand still, watching him walk through the sliding doors and disappear into the airport. As I drive away, I vow to sort out my feelings soon – for him, if not for myself.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments! I appreciate every one, so please keep telling me what you think! You can also follow me on tumblr (so-amazing-here).
> 
> In case you weren’t aware, I wrote a one-shot companion piece to this story that gives Peeta’s POV on the events in chapter 1. You can find the link in my profile if you want to read it. I originally intended it as just a one-shot, but there has been some interest in me continuing it. If you are interested, please let me know and also let me know what parts of the story you would like to see from Peeta’s perspective. 
> 
> As always, thanks to my awesome beta, sunfishdunes! Please read her story Reprieve after you finish here.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own no part of The Hunger Games.

I can’t quite see the road ahead of me.

 

I roughly rub the back of my right hand over my eyes in an attempt to clear away the tears, while my left hand steers the car. With the tears blurring my vision, I momentarily drifted a little too close to the next lane of the highway – I jerk the wheel quickly to bring the car back to safety.

 

Slowly breathing in and out, I will myself to stop crying and get my emotions back under control. It won’t do anyone any good for me to get in a car accident because I was sobbing while driving.

 

Dropping Peeta off at the airport and not knowing when I’ll see him next was hard. Probably harder than I even imagined it would be, and I had no illusions that this would be easy. But the depth of what I’m feeling right now is scaring me, quite honestly. I can’t explain why, but there is absolutely no comparison between this and how I felt when Gale first moved away. Maybe it’s because I was still young and in college, or maybe it’s because Gale and I should never have been dating in the first place – I don’t know. But leaving Peeta at the airport just a few minutes ago was a million times harder.

 

Peeta is amazing and I feel lucky for the time we’ve been able to spend together, even if I haven’t been able to commit to him in the exact way he wants. Deep in my heart I know he deserves someone better than me, someone who wouldn’t have any hesitation about being with him. I feel a little selfish for even considering being in a relationship with him.

 

I’m still kind of stunned that Peeta even wants that – the hardship of being in a long-distance relationship, that is – with _me_ , of all people. Katniss Everdeen is _so_ not worth it.

 

But I have to figure things out. I have to do it for Peeta. Right now I feel like I’m stringing him along, telling him I don’t know what I want to do while still agreeing to see him. He deserves an answer, even if it’s not the answer he wants.

 

I’m still lost in thoughts of how I’ll make this decision when I realize that I’ve pulled onto my street. I guess I’ve been on autopilot for a while since I don’t even remember most of the drive home. For once, there’s a free parking spot directly across the street from my house. I make a quick u-turn to grab the space, thankful that I won’t have to parade down the street with my face looking red and blotchy from all the crying I was doing in the car.

 

Just for good measure, I rub my face with my hands before I get out. Darting quickly across the street and up the stairs to the second floor, I quietly unlock the door and let myself in.

 

“Prim?” I yell.

 

Only silence greets me. Thank god – I really need some alone time right now. I know Prim would want to talk and I’m just not ready.

 

Looking into the corner of the room, I find myself tearing up again as I spot the mattress where Peeta slept. It just serves as another reminder of the fact that he’s gone. I quickly run over, grab the dirty sheets, and take them directly to the washing machine. Then I deflate the mattress and return it to the storage closet.

 

That’s better. Now it’s my apartment again – no reminders of Peeta’s presence.

 

But what do I do now?

 

I flop down on the couch and stare at the ceiling. I know that Peeta isn’t expecting me to make a decision in five minutes, but I feel anxious. Like I need to get this over with. But where do I even begin?

 

I narrow my eyes at the ceiling and slowly tap my fingers together. Pursing my lips, I try to imagine what a more decisive person would do in this situation. That’s no help – a decisive person wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

 

Think. Think. _Think_.

 

Suddenly I get an idea. A very typical _Katniss_ idea. I fly off the couch and dart upstairs to my bedroom, grabbing my laptop from the desk. I sit down on the bed and open up a new document.

 

Time to make a list.

 

But as I stare at the blank document in front of me, I’m stumped. What kind of a _list_ is going to help me in this situation? Peeta pros and cons? Do’s and don’ts of a long-distance relationship? Chicago versus Washington, DC?

 

My fingers remain poised over the keys, ready to type as soon as I can think of the best way to analyze my relationship with Peeta. But I’ve got nothing. It’s almost as if this aspect of my life can’t be reduced to a list. That, in and of itself, is frustrating.

 

Sighing loudly, I close my laptop and fall backwards onto my pillows. There have been very few times in my life where I’ve been forced to make a decision based on my emotions, and I don’t really trust my instincts there. I trust facts, lists, and empirical evidence. I do _not_ trust feelings: not other people’s, and certainly not my own.

 

But I don’t really see any other way to approach this. I need to figure out how I _feel_ (ugh) and then…take a chance that I’ll make the right choice. And I’m doubly concerned about making the right choice because it’s not just my own feelings involved here – it’s Peeta’s, too.

 

Turning on my side, I curl my arm under my head. I bite my lip and try to focus on the task at hand, willing my heart and head to work together for once. _I can do this_.

__________

 

The text message tone on my cell is going off. I roll over and fumble around until I find the phone on my nightstand, glancing at it in disbelief. _Peeta_? How is this message from Peeta? Didn’t I just drop him off at the airport like, an hour ago?

 

Then I notice the time – over four hours have passed since I left him at the airport. I guess I focused so hard on decision-making that I fell asleep. I feel mildly disgusted with myself for wasting the entire afternoon.

 

Downstairs I can faintly make out the sounds of Prim talking to someone on the phone. I better get myself together so I can face her. There’s no way she’s going to let me avoid talking about Peeta, but I need some time. I don’t know what to tell her that won’t leave her disappointed.

 

I roll onto my back and unlock my phone to read Peeta’s text.

 

“ _Just letting you know I made it home. Are you okay?_ ”

 

I close my eyes and smile to myself. Just reading this short message and knowing that he’s thinking of me makes me inexplicably happy.

 

“ _Not sure…I’m working on it. You?_ ”

 

“ _Not really. I miss you._ ”

 

It kills me to read that message. I don’t want _him_ to start feeling sad about _me_. I reply back with the only words I can think of to make him feel better. It’s weird, but they make me feel better, too. “ _We should plan another trip soon. How about I come to Chicago this time?_ ”

 

“ _You know I can’t say no to that. ;)_ ”

 

How does he manage to make even his text messages sound so sweet? I quickly respond, “ _Can I call you soon? We can work out details._ ”

 

“ _You better! I need to hear your voice. How’s Tuesday night?_ ”

 

“ _Tuesday it is. And we’ll see each other again soon, I promise._ ”

 

“ _I know. Bye for now, Katniss._ ”

 

“ _Bye Peeta._ ”

 

Our conversation ends there. It seems awkward to finish with a simple ‘goodbye’…I want to be able to say more to him, but I don’t think I have the words yet. It’s so much easier in person for me; wrapping my arms around him, or kissing him, or just _doing something_ to let him know with my actions how I’m feeling inside comes more naturally to me. Words, not so much.

 

This talking thing is going to be difficult. A nagging voice in the back of my head warns me that I’ll have to do a lot of talking in a long-distance relationship given how infrequently we’ll physically be together in the same city. Hell, even in the same time zone. Just one more reason why I’m not cut out for this.

 

Another voice (what’s going on in my head today?) reminds me that I’ve never actually had trouble talking to Peeta. It’s true that I find it pretty easy to talk to him. I mean, I’m even _looking forward_ to our telephone date on Tuesday. Usually I avoid talking on the phone at all costs. I’m one of those people who prays the phone will go to voice mail whenever she makes a call, and gets surprised when someone actually answers. And yet, I _want_ to talk to Peeta. That’s got to mean something, right? Right?

 

I just have to figure out what exactly that _something_ is.

__________

 

Prim wrangles me into having dinner out with her later in the evening. I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid her for long. She’s my sister, we live together, and she seems overly invested in my love life. Particularly since Peeta’s come along.

 

We’re at a French bistro located in a swanky hotel. It’s kind of pricey, but Prim picked it to cheer me up. She knows I can’t turn down the French onion soup. And she was right – I’ve already made it halfway through my bowl before she starts her interrogation.

 

“So, Katniss,” she begins, eyeing me thoughtfully as she sips her glass of wine, “I need details.”

 

I roll my eyes. “I could say it’s none of your business,” I tell her, raising my eyebrows. Prim looks like she’s about to protest but I cut her off and continue. “But what would you like to know?”

 

“Details!” she hisses, leaning toward me. “Like…what did you _do_? What did you talk about?”

 

I’m not giving in that easily. “Let’s see…first we walked over to the Eastern Market and looked at the vegetables. There were some _really nice_ zucchinis there – even zucchini blossoms! I almost bought–”

 

She cuts me off in frustration. “KATNISS! I’m going to lay this out for you very simply,” she says slowly, pointing at me with her fork. “Question one: did you sleep with him?”

 

My eyes widen and I drop my voice to a whisper, “God, Prim, someone could hear you!” I look around nervously.

 

She scoffs, “None of these people know us, or Peeta. Just answer me.”

 

“No,” I respond.

 

“Are you saying you won’t answer, or is that the answer to my question?” she asks, taking a bite of her salad.

 

“Your question,” I mumble, staring down at my soup and blushing. “But,” I whisper forcefully, leaning toward her across the table, “I’m not discussing anything more about… _that_ …with you.”

She laughs and holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I didn’t think you had anyway – I saw him on that silly air mattress both nights. You could have _at least_ let him sleep in your bed, Katniss. Throw the guy a bone!”

 

I glare at her. “Enough, Prim! And we’ve only been…whatever it is we’re doing…for less than a month. I’ve seen him in person _two times_.”

 

“Okay, okay, let’s move on,” Prim says. “Question two: are you guys officially a couple now? _Please_ say yes!” She looks at me pleadingly.

 

“We’re not,” I answer quickly. Prim looks like she’s about to burst with rage when the waiter brings us our entrees. The distraction gives us both a moment to collect ourselves before we continue talking.

 

Prim takes a deep breath. “Katniss. It’s very hard for me to stay calm right now, but I’m trying my best because we’re in public.” She pauses for a moment and takes a bite of her cassoulet, chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Can you tell me why you _aren’t_ a couple? All I’m asking is that you help me understand this,” she says, giving me a pointed look.

 

I concentrate on cutting my steak before I respond. “Umm…because I told him I wasn’t sure yet.”

 

“You aren’t _sure_ yet.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

Prim carefully places her fork on the table and wipes her mouth with a napkin. She closes her eyes and then bursts out, “Are you kidding me, Katniss? That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard you say!”

 

“What? It’s the truth,” I reply defensively.

 

“I just…I can’t,” Prim sputters, shaking her head. “Peeta obviously has,” she pauses to think, “ _very_ strong feelings for you. What more do you need to think about?”

 

I pop a few fries into my mouth. “There’s more to it than just _his_ feelings. We’re talking about starting up a long-distance relationship. I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” I admit.

 

She sighs. “You’re right that it’s a serious thing to consider. But I know you Katniss, and I bet you’re over-thinking it. For just a minute, pretend that he lived here or that you lived there. Would he be your boyfriend by now?”

 

“Mmmm…possibly. I mean, I think so,” I respond, nodding. “But that’s not the case, so…”

 

“I know that! I’m just wondering if you’re focusing too much on the logistics of the long-distance thing and not enough on your actual feelings for the poor guy,” she explains.

 

“It’s a lot more than just ‘logistics,’ Prim.”

 

“I’m not even sure if _you_ believe what you’re saying or if you’re arguing with me just to argue,” Prim says angrily. “ _Peeta_ would be worth it. He’d be good for you. No, let me rephrase that: he already _is_ good for you.”

 

“Calm down, Prim,” I tell her. Placing my elbows on the table, I lean my face into my hands. “I don’t want to fight, I’m just honestly confused.”

 

Prim looks at me guiltily, waiting a few moments before continuing. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I get it – you’re not really good with the whole human emotion thing,” she jokes, trying to lighten the tense mood that had settled over us.

 

I laugh. “That’s so true.” Pausing a moment, a troubling thought occurs to me. “Prim, have you talked to Aunt Effie about any of this?”

 

“Well…yeah, she and I talked this weekend and I told her Peeta was visiting. Why?” Prim asks worriedly.

 

“I just…” I trail off, tilting my head sideways as I struggle to express exactly what I’m feeling. “I don’t want to get her hopes up and then disappoint her, you know? Could you try not to tell her too much until I’ve figured things out?”

 

“I can try, but we can’t keep this from her for too long,” Prim answers. “She’s too excited. She just wants you to be happy. We all do.”

 

“I know, and I _will_ talk to her soon,” I promise. That’s the truth, too. I’ve already decided that I can’t drag out this decision much longer. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.

 

“Good,” Prim says, nodding approvingly. She looks at me, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Now, onto the good stuff – how about you fill me in on some of the _other_ details of your weekend, hmm?”

__________

 

Tuesday night is here. Finally.

 

I sound a little pathetic, even to myself, but I’ve been looking forward to my phone date with Peeta all day. I could hardly concentrate at work – I was so distracted just thinking about talking to him again. And it’s only been two days since I dropped him off at the airport.

 

This is _so_ not Katniss. And honestly, a few years ago – no, make that a few _weeks_ ago – I would have definitely yelled at myself for being so needy about a guy. But now that I’m here, and the guy is Peeta…I find that I don’t care about being needy quite so much.

 

Looking around me, I check to make sure I have everything I need to settle in and get comfortable.

 

Plenty of pillows to prop me up on my bed? Yep – looks like there’s about thirty of them.

 

Something to eat and drink? On my nightstand.

 

Did I go to the bathroom? Just a minute ago.

 

I giggle to myself – I’m better prepared for this phone call than I was for the last blizzard that hit DC. But once I hear Peeta’s voice, I just don’t want to be distracted by anything else.

 

Where’s my phone? It’s not on my nightstand where I normally put it. I look in horror at the mound of pillows on my bed – is it under there somewhere? I’m supposed to call Peeta soon – I can’t be late!

 

I’m frantically throwing pillows around the room when I feel my phone alarm vibrate from my pocket. Oh, right. That’s where I put it so I wouldn’t forget it. And it’s telling me it’s time to call Peeta – as if there was any danger of me forgetting.

 

There’s no time to remake pillow mountain, so I settle down amongst the pillows that haven’t been tossed on the floor. Taking a deep breath, I find Peeta’s name in my contacts and press “call.”

 

A familiar voice answers right away. “Hey you!”

 

I bounce excitedly on the bed – I’m glad no one can see me. “Hi Peeta.”

 

“I miss you so much,” he sighs.

 

“I miss you too,” I tell him.

 

We talk happily for a few minutes about mundane things: work, the weather, our families. But there’s not much to catch up on; after all, it’s only been two days since we were last together.

 

“So, last time we talked, we said we’d plan another trip,” I remind him. “You still interested?”

 

“Are you kidding me, Katniss? Yes!” he answers.

 

“Good,” I reply happily. “What are you doing the weekend after next?”

 

“Spending the weekend with you?” Peeta asks hopefully.

 

“Well, you figured out my surprise,” I joke. I can hear him laughing along with me; I don’t think what I’ve said is even particularly funny, but we’re both so relieved to hear the other’s voice that it’s as though we can’t help but laugh.

 

It’s a good thing – I love the deep, throaty sound of his laughter.

 

I quiet down and continue with my planning. “I’ll buy the plane tickets as soon as I get off the phone tonight. Are you sure you won’t mind seeing me again so soon?” I tease him.

 

“Oh, please. I’ll never get tired of seeing you,” he responds.

 

I blush, once again thankful for the distance the phone provides so Peeta can’t see. “You don’t mean that,” I scoff. Changing the subject quickly, I ask “Any idea what we’ll do when I visit?”

 

“Hmm…not yet. But be glad you’re not coming to visit this weekend – it’s my great uncle’s birthday party, and the whole family would’ve expected to meet you.” Peeta chuckles at the thought. “I don’t want to scare you off just yet,” he jokes.

 

My eyes bug out of my head in disbelief. “They don’t know about me, right?” I ask timidly, even though I’m pretty sure of the answer, given his previous statement.

 

“Of course they do,” he replies matter of factly. Sensing my discomfort, he adds, “It’s not a big deal, Katniss. There are no secrets among the Mellarks. If one person knows something, everyone does. That’s just how we operate.”

 

“Isn’t…family stuff…something we shouldn’t deal with until we’re like…committed? Officially?” I ask, stumbling over the words.

 

“Well, I guess I thought…” he pauses, sighing. “Forget I said anything, Katniss. Don’t get hung up on this.”

 

But for some reason I persist, even though no good can possibly come of this conversation. “It’s just…I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. About us, I mean.” What exactly _do_ I mean? Am I saying to him that I don’t want people to think we’re a couple?

 

Peeta’s silent on the other end of the phone, so I try again. “That came out wrong. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m not ready to even think about family stuff yet. We’re still trying to figure this out, you know?”

 

He sighs. “I know, Katniss. And if it makes you uncomfortable to visit me, just say so. We don’t have to do this.”

 

Do what? Do _what_? I momentarily panic thinking that he’s about to end our…relationship, or whatever it is we are right now. “No Peeta, I still want to see you,” I say, hoping that my voice doesn’t sound as desperate as I think it does. “If you want me to,” I add nervously.

 

“I do,” he says softly.

 

This conversation has gone so far off the rails that I have no idea how to salvage it at this point. I guess I kind of ruined things with my insecurity. Again. But if I’ve come this far, I might as well continue.

 

“I’m still trying to decide, Peeta. About us. I just don’t know when _I’ll_ know.” I tell him. “I’m sorry. I’m trying, I am.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says seriously. “You know I’m not going to push you. I want this to be worth it for you, Katniss.”

 

I want to tell him that it’s already worth it, because it is. Every moment I spend with him makes me want more. _I’m_ the problem though – I can’t admit these things out loud. And until I can, we’re stuck.

 

“You’re too good, Peeta,” is all I can manage to tell him. But then another thought occurs to me, and I add, “How do _you_ know that _I’m_ worth it? You seem so certain about this.”

 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’m following my instincts here. It’s just…how I feel when we’re together? It’s like nothing I’ve felt before.”

 

I totally get what he’s saying because I feel the same way. Part of me is jealous that he feels comfortable trusting his emotions so completely – of course, another part of me thinks he must be insane.

 

“And the distance doesn’t bother you?” I ask in disbelief.

 

“Of course it does! I want to be able to see you every day, but that’s just not the way things are right now. So I’ll deal with it. _You’re_ more important to me, and _you’re_ not in Chicago, so…”

 

“So…what?” I press him.

 

He sounds a bit exasperated but continues, “So I don’t focus on it. I’ll focus on what we do have. It’s better than the alternative.”

 

“Yeah…” I muse thoughtfully. “You’re pretty amazing. You have so much confidence.”

 

He laughs softly. “Katniss, the only reason I’m so sure is because of _you_ , don’t you understand that? I’m not taking any of this lightly.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Take some more time to think, okay?” he asks me. “Don’t let yourself get overwhelmed. I’m here for you no matter what.”

 

We say goodbye soon after that – Peeta does work baker’s hours after all and has to be up early tomorrow. I wish that our conversation had been a bit less serious, but I think we brought up some things that needed to be said. I’m floored by how…I don’t know… _devoted_ Peeta seems, even though I haven’t promised him anything. I didn’t realize that people like him existed in the real world.

 

Later that night I buy my plane tickets to Chicago and start counting down the days until I see him again.

__________

 

I’m in my office working intently on troubleshooting some software issues for one of my clients, when my door is suddenly thrown open. I’m so startled that I almost jump. “Guess who’s back, bitches?” Johanna calls out as she saunters in and flops into my guest chair.

 

I’m momentarily stunned before I get up and run around my desk to give her a hug. “Jo! When did you get back to town?”

 

“Just last weekend. I took my time getting back into the office. Although Plutarch’s been begging me to come back ever since I left,” Johanna says, rolling her eyes. “Huge shock there.”

 

Johanna Mason is one of D12’s most valuable employees – as a former computer hacker, she’s better than any of us at testing our clients’ systems and finding vulnerabilities. Now she calls herself an ‘ethical hacker’ and says that she only uses her talents for good. She’s a tiny, thin woman with short brown hair – basically the last person anyone would picture when they think of an IT guru, especially the formerly-illegal kind. She has a strong personality and can be pretty brash and hard to get along with, but she mentored me when I started at D12 and the friendship grew from there. I don’t know what she saw in me, but by now she’s definitely my best work friend.

 

“How was Minnesota?” I ask her.

 

“Ugh, it sucked. My completely worthless sisters kept using their kids and their husbands as excuses for why they couldn’t help me take care of Mom. Our mother is _dying_ , and neither of them lives more than an hour away from her, but they left everything to me, the one who lives a thousand miles away,” she shakes her head in disgust.

 

“But things were okay enough for you to come back?”

 

“Not really. But I had to eventually come back to this sliver of paradise,” she shrugs. “Anyway, you want to grab lunch? I have a meeting in an hour, so something quick like the sandwich shop?”

 

“Sure,” I agree, grabbing my purse. We walk to the elevator together as I fill her in on all the office gossip from the past four weeks.

 

The elevator stops at our floor and the doors slide open. Stepping inside, I freeze momentarily. _Seneca._ I actually haven’t seen him since the incident when he drunkenly badmouthed me to Peeta at the restaurant. I’m surprised by how angry I still feel.

 

Johanna looks a little perplexed – I think she must be wondering why I’m not talking to Seneca. Our first couple of dates happened before she left, and I obviously haven’t filled her in on what’s happened since. But she has the good sense (for once) to keep quiet. She just gives me a questioning look from the corner of the elevator where she stands.

 

I mouth “later” to her and silently face the elevator doors, shrinking up against the wall as far away from Seneca as possible.

 

Suddenly he clears his throat. “Hey, Katniss. How’ve you been?”

 

I slowly turn my head to him in disbelief. He has the gall to talk to me? “Fine,” I mumble.

 

I was hoping that he would read my prickly body language and shut up right then, but he apparently takes my response as an invitation for further conversation. “I haven’t seen you around the gym as often as –”

 

My anger bubbles over at this point and I cut him off. “Seneca, what is this? We’re suddenly _talking_ again?”

 

Johanna looks incredibly amused by all of this.

 

Seneca frowns and starts, “Well, I just thought –”

 

“I’m pretty sure the last time I saw you, you told my _boyfriend_ that I was a bitch. Isn’t that right?” I remind him.

 

Wait – what did I just say? Boyfriend? Johanna is raising her eyebrows at me and typing furiously on her phone. I try to distract myself by glaring at Seneca.

 

He stammers, “Your boyfriend? I…just thought he was some guy taking you on a date. I had no idea it was serious. I’m sorry, Katniss.”

 

“It shouldn’t matter if it is my boyfriend, a complete stranger, or Santa Claus, I don’t want to hear it!” I’m practically shouting now, and am definitely talking too loudly for being in an elevator.

 

Thankfully I’m saved from any further confrontation by the elevator doors opening on the floor where Seneca works. He slinks out without saying another word. I don’t know what he was thinking in the first place. That I hadn’t seen him talking to Peeta? That Peeta wouldn’t have told me about it? I’ll never understand.

 

I breathe out loudly through my nose in frustration. And suddenly I remember Johanna, who’s still standing in the corner typing an email. She looks up at me with a huge grin on her face.

 

I cross my arms defensively as I turn to her. “What?” I demand.

 

“I just cancelled my meeting,” she informs me bluntly. “You and I have some _serious_ catching up to do.”

__________

 

At least she waited until the food came to start with me. I realize I’m actually pretty hungry when my mouth starts watering as the waiter places steaming bowls of curry laksa in front of us. I immediately grab my chopsticks and dig in.

 

“Alright Everdeen, we have some things to discuss,” she tells me between sips of her soup. “Last time I saw you, you’d just had what you told me were two ‘acceptable’ dates with Seneca. And now you’re screaming at him in the elevator?”

 

I shrug. “It didn’t work out.”

 

“Obviously,” she replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “What happened? I’ve never seen you lose it in public before.”

 

“Well, we weren’t _exactly_ in public; it was just the three of us in the elevator.”

 

She scoffs. “Whatever you say. Just answer me already.”

 

“Did I really call the first two dates ‘acceptable’?” Johanna nods in confirmation, so I continue. “I was probably exaggerating – they weren’t great. We never really clicked. I ended things after the third date, and he didn’t take it well. Obviously.”

 

“And _that’s_ what got you so enraged that you’d yell at him in the elevator?” she asks with a disbelieving tone in her voice. “Give me some credit, Katniss.” She gives me a pointed look.

 

“Okay,” I relent. “There’s a little more to it. He was badmouthing me to other people.”

 

“Yes! To this _boyfriend_ you mentioned. How and when did this happen?” she asks.

 

“I don’t have a boyfriend – that just slipped out.”

 

“Right. Okay. Let me get this straight – Seneca was badmouthing you to _some man_ who is not your boyfriend but who _is_ important enough to make you scream at people in elevators. Is that right?”

 

“I guess,” I mumble, avoiding her gaze.

 

“Who’s this boyfriend?” she demands.

 

“I said he’s not – ”

 

“Who’s…this…boyfriend?” she repeats slowly.

 

I place my spoon on the table and drop my head into my hands. I really can’t handle it when she interrogates me. It’s Prim all over again. Glancing up at her and seeing _the look_ she’s giving me, I realize there’s no point in holding back. “His name is Peeta. He lives in Chicago and I guess…we’re kind of doing the long-distance thing,” I explain.

 

“Whoa. How did that happen?” she asks.

 

“Remember that client meeting in January – the one you missed when you broke your foot rock climbing? Well, he and I were both stranded in the airport during a blizzard after that meeting – we started talking and just…I don’t know. Something happened.” I attempt to explain it, but it’s hard because I’m not sure I even understand.

 

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Johanna responds. “I have a hard time seeing you talking to some stranger.”

 

I nod in agreement. “You’re right. I guess it was more that _he_ talked to _me_. A lot. Until he wore me down and I talked back,” I joke.

 

“But that was months before you started dating Seneca,” she reminds me, pointing a chopstick in my direction. “So explain that.”

 

“Well, we didn’t actually meet up again until just a few weeks ago,” I admit.

 

“And now he’s your boyfriend?” she asks in disbelief.

 

“I told you no! We’re just…trying to figure out where we stand.”

 

Johanna stares at me a moment before asking bluntly, “ _‘We’_ are trying to figure things out, or _‘Katniss’_ is trying to figure things out?”

 

I groan to myself – she knows me too well. “It’s me. It’s always me.”

 

“What about Peeta?”

 

“He’s waiting.” I tell her.

 

“That’s unbelievable,” she responds, shaking her head and leaning back against her chair. “How long are you going to string him along?”

 

“I’m not _stringing him along_ ,” I hiss angrily. “He’s an amazing person, and I really like him.”

 

“And the problem is…”

 

I look at her like she’s grown another head. The problem should be obvious to anyone. “He lives in freaking Chicago, Jo!”

 

“So what? Then you won’t have to worry about getting tired of him so quickly,” she says, acting as if she’s just solved all my problems.

 

“That’s the _last_ thing on my mind. I worry more about…missing him too much or growing apart,” I shake my head, trying to articulate exactly what my biggest fears are. It’s not simple to explain.

 

“You need to loosen up, Everdeen. It sounds like you really like this guy,” she tells me. “You know, when you called your dates with Seneca ‘acceptable,’ I honestly thought you’d be married before I got back from Minnesota. That’s the most excited I’ve ever heard you get about a guy,” she notes seriously. “And now, here you are, freely describing Peeta as an ‘amazing person’ in public!” She gestures around the restaurant, pointing out all of the nearby tables full of diners.

 

She’s right. Peeta has been making me think and act differently than I ever have before. I’m just not sure whether or not that’s a good thing.

 

“Listen Jo, I’m not going to make Peeta wait around much longer,” I explain. “I fully intend to make a decision soon.”

 

“Do you hear yourself? You sound like you’re trying to decide which college to go to. I’m going to come right and out say it – you’re an idiot for not already making up your mind. There’s no way he’s going to wait forever. Unless, of course, he’s as brainless as you are,” she adds helpfully.

 

“Thanks for that, Jo,” I say sarcastically. Glancing at my watch, I add, “Don’t you need to get back to work?”

 

“I do,” she agrees, gesturing for the waiter and asking for our checks. “But this isn’t over – not by a long shot.”

__________

 

“Katniss?” the voice on the phone says, surprised.

 

“Hi Peeta.” I hope I don’t sound too nervous. I hadn’t made plans to call him this afternoon, so he wasn’t expecting to hear from me. But I’m finally ready to talk, and I hope he has time to listen. “Do you have a few minutes?”

 

“For you? Always,” he responds happily. “But I’m at work right now – can I put you on speaker while I’m making some dough?”

 

“Umm…are you alone?” I don’t want to talk in front of his dad or his brothers or any of the other numerous Mellarks that I’ve never met.

 

“Yeah, I’m the only one here right now. What’s up?” Peeta sounds a little distracted – I can hear various clanging sounds in the background, so I assume he’s caught up in his baking. That’s good, because my last question sounded suspicious and I don’t want to alarm him.

 

“Uh, not much.” I walk over to my door and push on it to make sure it’s shut firmly. I’m calling from work and I really don’t want any eavesdroppers. “How are you?”

 

“Fine, just busy,” he responds. “I’ve been by myself most of the day today. I’m exhausted.”

 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea – I clearly didn’t think this through, calling him in the middle of his work day and all. “I don’t want to bother you. Should I call back later?” I ask seriously.

 

“Nope, I’ve got it, Katniss. And it makes my day a whole lot better when I hear from you.” I can practically _hear_ the smile in his voice.

 

“Oh, okay,” I reply, then lapse into silence. I feel really awkward about this whole situation. But we can’t move forward without talking so…

 

I take a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

 

Peeta doesn’t respond immediately. I hear more clanging sounds, and something that I assume is an oven door shutting. Over the noise, Peeta says, “Sorry Katniss, I missed some of that. You want to do what?”

 

Wow, he’s really making this hard on me. It’s hard enough to say this once, much less repeat myself over his dough kneading or whatever it is he’s doing in the bakery. “Umm, make this official? Like, you and me, being a couple…” I trail off, embarrassed. “If you still want to?”

 

Suddenly everything gets very quiet and I can hear Peeta pick up the phone and take me off speaker. “Say that one more time,” he requests quietly.

 

Shutting my eyes, I blurt out, “I want to…be with you, Peeta. For real now.” Peeta remains silent on the other end and I grow more and more anxious. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” I ask timidly.

 

Peeta starts laughing – not an amused laugh though; he sounds kind of shocked. “Are you just saying that because you think I want to hear it?” he asks.

 

“No, _no_.” I respond forcefully. “I’ve really decided. I want this, Peeta.”

 

“I do too, Katniss. You know that. But we talked just a few days ago and you seemed…not ready then.”

 

I shake my head quickly before I remember that he can’t see me. “I think I just wasn’t ready to admit how I feel out loud – to anyone. Not even to myself. But then the other day, I referred to you as my boyfriend without even thinking about it. I tried denying it, but it didn’t exactly work out very well,” I admit.

 

Peeta chuckles softly. “I wish I could’ve been there to see that. I can just imagine how embarrassed you must’ve been.” I join in his laughter. Honestly, I’m glad he can see some humor in that – I was worried he’d be offended.

 

After a moment, we both grow silent. It’s not tense or uncomfortable, but there is a certain longing hanging over us – or maybe it’s regret.

 

“Katniss…” Peeta sighs. “You don’t know how much I wish I was there with you right now.”

 

I smile to myself. “No, I think I do.”

 

“I want to touch you so badly. This is _killing_ me,” he groans.

 

“We’ll be together soon though, Peeta,” I promise him.

 

“Not soon enough.”

 

“As soon as we can. And we’ll make up for lost time then, okay?” I attempt to reassure him. In a way, I’m reassuring myself, too.

 

Neither of us wants to hang up the phone but eventually we do, promising to talk as often as we can until my next trip in less than two weeks. We’ll survive. We know we still have a lot to figure out, but just making the decision to officially try this long-distance thing is a big step for me. I’m ready to see what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, even though they are now “together”, Katniss and Peeta’s story isn’t over by a long shot, so I hope you keep reading. Let me know what you think!


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for your lovely comments! Please keep them coming! You can also follow me on tumblr (soamazinghere).
> 
> Thanks as always to my awesome beta, sunfishdunes! Please read her story Reprieve after you finish here.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own no part of The Hunger Games.

I’m in a daze right now – I still can’t believe what I just did.

 

For the entire Metro ride home, I’ve had to keep biting my lip to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. Everyone around me is sitting or standing silently, staring at their newspapers or listening to their iPods. I really don’t want to draw attention to myself, but it’s taking everything in me not to start laughing in disbelief.

 

I had no idea that making things official with Peeta would make me feel so…giddy. There’s really no other word for it. Somewhere deep inside me, I’m cringing to think that I’m _letting_ myself feel like this. But for once, I’m allowing my own emotions to drive my decision-making, and it feels like I did the right thing.

 

Holy crap, it feels _right_.

 

The train stops in the tunnel and sits for ten minutes without a word of explanation from the conductor. Normally, I’d be fuming and impatient and cursing Metro for their incompetence, but today I just stare straight ahead with a stupid smile on my face thinking about how Peeta’s lips will feel when they touch mine again.

 

When I leave the train at Eastern Market station, the only working escalator is going down. But I practically bounce up the stairs, not _once_ muttering any comments under my breath about how they should just replace the escalators with staircases. I’m imagining how good it will feel to have Peeta’s arms wrapped around me the next time I see him.

 

I get home and burst into the apartment looking for Prim. I’m actually eager to talk to her since I finally have something to say that she wants to hear. She should be home, but it’s completely silent on the first floor. As I drop my purse and keys near the front door, I stop and listen intently. There aren’t any sounds coming from upstairs either. Prim worked overnight last night, so I guess she must be asleep.

 

I purse my lips in annoyance. I _really_ want to talk to her. Internally, I debate going upstairs and waking her up. Normally I’m a fairly considerate sister, especially since I know Prim’s job is stressful. But I think she owes me after her public interrogation at the restaurant earlier this week.

 

Bounding up the stairs, I fling open the door to Prim’s room, squinting as my eyes to adjust to the dark. I hear her stirring on the other side of the room. “Prim, wake up!” I sit on the bed and poke her in the side.

 

She bats my hand away and scoots toward the wall. “Quit it, Katniss. I’m trying to sleep,” she mumbles, burying her face in her pillow.

 

“But I need to tell you something,” I persist, bouncing the bed to try to jostle her awake.

 

“Tell me later,” she says sleepily, her voice muffled by the pillow.

 

“Fine,” I say slyly, slowly raising myself off the bed. “If you don’t want to know about my conversation with Peeta…”

 

That gets her attention immediately. She sits up abruptly and grabs my hand, yanking me back down onto the bed. “Okay, I’m up! This better be worth it,” she grumbles. She has so little faith in me.

 

“Well, I called Peeta today while I was at work.”

 

Prim looks at me expectantly. “Tell me that’s not all there is to this story,” she pleads.

 

“We talked…about our _relationship_ …” I continue slowly, purposely teasing her.

 

“Out with it, Katniss!” Prim exclaims, pinching my arm. “You woke me up for this!”

 

“Alright, alright,” I laugh, rubbing my arm where she pinched it. “I told Peeta that we could…be a couple, I guess.”

 

“You guess?”

 

I shake my head. “No, no guessing. We’re a couple now. Officially. Can you believe it?” I practically squeal the last part; I was about to burst from holding in my excitement for so long. Thank god I have Prim to talk to – I don’t really have many close friends but I _had_ to share my news with someone. I’m having a girl moment and I need my sister.

 

“No! But I’m so happy for you,” she tells me sincerely, pulling me into a hug. She pulls back and gives me a disbelieving look. “How did this happen?”

 

“It was a lot of things,” I admit. “Everything just kept piling up until it seemed like I was being stupid for resisting. I _told_ you I was going to make a decision soon, didn’t I?” I remind her.

 

“You did, but I didn’t believe you,” Prim responds.

 

Suddenly she reaches over me to the table next to the bed and grabs her phone. She narrows her eyes in concentration as she types.

 

“What are you doing?” I ask.

 

“Sending a quick text,” she answers, not looking up from her screen.

 

“Right in the middle of our conversation?” I’m kind of offended by that. She could at least be paying attention to me.

 

Prim finishes her message and gives me a stern look. “Katniss, the message was _about_ this conversation. I’m not _that_ horrible of a sister.”

 

That doesn’t reassure me in the least. “Who were you telling?” I screech in panic. I wasn’t ready for her to spread this news around the world. I don’t know who would care, but still.

 

She rolls her eyes. “Relax! I was texting congratulations to _Peeta_ ,” she explains.

 

“Since when do you talk to Peeta without me around?” I exclaim.

 

She lies back down and pulls the blankets up to her chin. “Since his trip out here. I wanted to help him out.” She sees me about to say something and cuts me off, raising her hand to stop me. “Don’t worry, I’ve barely talked to him.”

 

I hear her phone’s message tone go off. She looks at her cell and smiles. “Oh, that’s adorable,” she murmurs to herself. “Peeta sounds happy,” she says to me, winking.

 

“What did he say?” I try to grab the phone from her but she shoves it under her back, beneath the covers.

 

“Uh-uh, Katniss. You talk to him yourself. He’s your boyfriend,” she says, shoving me off the bed. “Now let me get back to sleep!”

 

“Fine. But I’m watching you,” I warn her jokingly.

 

She giggles and points to the door. “Good night!”

__________

 

O’Hare Airport seems every bit as large as it did last time I was here, although now I have a very different reason to be anxious. I know that when I leave the concourse, I’ll find Peeta waiting for me just beyond the TSA checkpoint. And I can’t wait to see him. We haven’t been together since we made our decision (okay, since _I_ made _my_ decision) about being a couple. That was almost two weeks ago, but it feels longer, especially since we had to wait to see each other again.

 

I wonder if I’m supposed to act differently toward him now? Because my decision was such a big deal to me, I feel like things _are_ different between us. But the truth is we always acted like we were a couple before, especially Peeta. Maybe the best thing to do is to be nonchalant, like nothing’s changed. Even though nothing feels further from the truth. For me, anyway.

 

Why am I freaking out?

 

Peeta insisted on meeting my flight at the airport, even though I told him I’d be happy to take the train or a taxi. That means I’ll get to see him sooner, which is good…but I could use just a _little_ bit more time to calm my nerves before I see him.

 

“Get a hold yourself, Katniss,” I mutter under my breath. A man walking next to me gives me a strange look – I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought. He gets a glare in response.

 

Spotting a restroom just ahead of me, I make an abrupt detour, hoping that I can calm myself. The bathroom isn’t too busy – at least there’s not a line waiting to go in – but as you would expect in one of the world’s busiest airports, there’s not exactly any privacy either. I approach the sinks and stand in front of one as far away from the door (and other people) as possible.

 

I wash my hands slowly and methodically, taking deep breaths. I’m about to see my boyfriend, for god’s sake; why am I so nervous? I examine myself in the mirror. The face staring back at me looks pretty normal, so that’s a good sign. It doesn’t seem to betray my nerves. I try giving myself a smile – just to see if I can pull that off in front of Peeta – but I stop quickly when I remember that I’m in a public bathroom and I imagine how crazy that must look.

 

Peeta’s waiting for me, and even though it seems like I’m stalling right now, I really do want to see him. I quickly put some on some chapstick and spit my gum into a paper towel. I’m as ready as I’m going to be. I dry my hands and toss the towels into the trash as I speed toward the exit.

 

As soon as I walk past the security guards and push through a few small groups of people greeting their family members, I see him leaning against the wall. For once, I don’t even try to fight the smile from spreading across my face.  I run over and meet him with a quick kiss on the mouth. He cradles my head in his hands, studying me for a long moment before he returns his mouth to mine for a much slower and deeper kiss. I’m not normally one for these types of public displays, but then again, I’m not often my normal self around Peeta.

 

Looking up into his face, I notice that he looks… _excited_ to see me. I still have trouble comprehending my luck in finding this man. How could I possibly be the cause of this reaction in him?

 

I laugh to myself and wrap my arms around him tightly, squeezing my eyes shut and just focusing on the feel of him here with me. It’s only been two weeks, but that’s two weeks too long. He must be thinking something similar given that he’s uncharacteristically quiet. So _not_ Peeta. His face is buried in my hair as his arms snake their way around my waist, pulling me as close to him as physically possible. Neither of us says a word for a long time.

 

Finally, Peeta pulls away, just far enough to clasp our hands together. “I was starting to wonder where you were,” he tells me, raising his eyebrows. He reaches for my suitcase with one hand as he leads me through the airport.

 

“It’s a big airport,” I answer. “Were you getting impatient? Have somewhere important to be?” I tease.

 

I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he glances at me. “As a matter of fact, I postponed several important business meetings to be here today,” he informs me jokingly.

 

Dropping his hand, I reach up and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you for coming,” I tell him sincerely. I know he was kidding with that last remark, but I’m really grateful that he’s here. Now that we’re together, it seems silly to think how nervous I was just a few short minutes ago.

 

“I’m glad you relented and let me pick you up,” he says. “I don’t want to spend any more time apart than necessary.” He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer as we walk.

 

I bite my lip and smile shyly. “Me neither,” I tell him, leaning my head briefly on his shoulder. “Now, tell me what we have planned for our weekend,” I ask eagerly.

 

“Well, first, let me assure you that we _will not_ be attending any birthday parties or other Mellark family events,” he says, giving me a sly sideways glance.

 

I blush, remembering my overreaction to the mention of his relative’s recent birthday party. “Good, they wouldn’t like me anyway,” I respond.

 

Peeta rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Quit it, Katniss.”

 

“Alright, alright…How about our weekend plans?” I ask expectantly.

 

“I just want you to myself, honestly,” he says. “I was hoping you’d be okay with a low-key weekend, just the two of us, no plans in particular…”

 

“That sounds _perfect_ ,” I reply quickly. Peeta looks at me and we smile widely at each other. Inside, I’m feeling relieved that I don’t have to go out and meet the Mellarks yet – from the way he describes them, they sound overwhelming. I’m used to my little family unit: just me, Prim, and Effie. I’ll need some time to mentally prepare for the Mellarks, I think.

 

Of course, I’m also happy to get some alone time with Peeta. It’s hard being part of a couple that’s never (okay, very rarely) physically together. I just want to be _near_ him. With him.

 

As we reach Peeta’s car and climb inside, I realize that neither one of us said a word about my decision or alluded to the fact that anything has changed at all between us. Maybe it hasn’t. After all my worrying, I actually don’t feel like anything _has_ changed. In the end, maybe trusting my feelings was the right thing to do.

__________

 

This is my first time seeing where Peeta lives. Actually, I didn’t even know his address before I was preparing for this trip, which seems strange in hindsight. I’m not sure why I think I _should_ have known his address – maybe it’s because I wouldn’t have known where to begin looking if he suddenly disappeared. That’s kind of silly though – if Peeta disappeared I’d be hundreds of miles away anyway, I’m sure.

 

Also, _why_ am I thinking about Peeta disappearing?

 

I’m here now anyway. Peeta gives me a quick tour before he vanishes into the kitchen to start cooking dinner. Well, _vanishes_ is the wrong word – with the open floor plan he’s actually still in the same room as me.

 

Peeta’s apartment isn’t large, but it’s comfortable. It’s a one bedroom in a small, older-looking apartment building. He told me that the building is owned by one of his relatives ( _of course_ ), and although the building is old, the interiors have been renovated, hence the open floor plan with one large, well-lit room for the kitchen, dining, and living areas. I think I’ll like spending time here.

 

I walk over to the counter and sit down, watching Peeta as he moves around the kitchen. I rest my chin in my hands and ask, “What are you making?”

 

“Lamb stew,” he responds as he rummages in a cabinet looking through his spices.

 

I raise my eyebrows. “It’s July. That doesn’t sound like a very summer-y dish.”

 

“Who cares?” he scoffs. “I guarantee you’re going to love it.”

 

“Well, you certainly sound confident.” Peeta just laughs in response. I get up from my stool and walk around the counter to peer over his shoulder as he sears the meat. “Can I help?” I offer.

 

He backs away and looks at me incredulously. “Umm…no.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘no’? I’m not doing anything else. You should feel lucky, I don’t offer to help in the kitchen very often,” I tell him.

 

“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly expecting it,” he mumbles, turning the meat in the pan.

 

“What?” Spotting some carrots on the counter, I grab a large knife and move toward them. “Maybe I can chop these for you.”

 

Peeta whips around and gets a panicked look in his eyes after seeing me with a knife. “No, no, no,” he says, gently taking the utensil out of my hands. “I’ve got it. You can…uh…” he looks frantically back and forth around the kitchen, attempting to think of something for me to do.

 

I narrow my eyes. “Have you been talking to Prim?” I ask suspiciously.

 

“What makes you say that?” he asks quickly as he finishes searing the lamb.

 

“Well, it almost seems like you don’t _want_ my help,” I answer. “Has she told you anything about my…um… _skills_ in the kitchen?”

 

I catch him fighting a small smile. “Maybe,” he admits.

 

I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head between his shoulder blades. “I knew no good would come from the two of you talking behind my back,” I sigh.

 

He turns around and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Well, you already told me you don’t like cooking. She just warned me that you’re also really…disaster-prone in the kitchen.”

 

“It’s true,” I say, my voice muffled in Peeta’s chest.

 

He lifts my chin and places a soft kiss on my mouth. “Why don’t you just go and relax?” he suggests. “After all, you’ve been traveling today.”

 

He’s being really sweet, but I’m pretty sure I see a look of relief on his face as I exit the kitchen. I have no idea what Prim told him – well, not _exactly_ , although I could guess – but he looks like he was expecting me to kill someone or burn the place down. That’s unlikely. At least the killing part.

 

Walking into the living room, I flop down and stretch out on the couch. I wonder if this is where I’m going to sleep tonight? It’s pretty comfortable, so I don’t think I’d have any problem falling asleep here.

 

We haven’t discussed our sleeping arrangements at all, but they’ve been on my mind. How can they not be? I’ve been wondering if Peeta would mind sleeping in the same bed. Just sleeping – I don’t think I’m ready for anything else yet. If you count up all the days physically spent in the same location, we’ve only been _together_ for about one week. _One week._ Sure, we’ve spent hours talking on the phone, but I still feel like I need more time to get to know him before we take the next step.

 

But I have a powerful craving to be close to him while I can. So I’d like to sleep in his bed, if he’s okay with that and doesn’t expect anything more.

 

Looking up, I realize that Peeta’s been chattering away in the kitchen for awhile now, and I barely caught a word he said. Something about what kind of wine to have with the stew, I think.

 

I take a deep breath and cut him off mid-sentence. “Hey Peeta, I was thinking,” I start. He nods, waiting for me to continue. “I don’t know what you were planning for our, um, sleeping arrangements, but I’d be willing to sleep with you. If you want.”

 

My eyes widen as I hear my own words. That came out wrong, and I rush to clarify myself. “I mean, sleep _in the same bed_ together. Not anything else. Not that I don’t want to, someday, just not right now.” Word vomit keeps rushing out of me. “I mean, just give me a few weeks and I’m sure I’ll feel different but right now I’m not ready. So…yeah. That’s what I was thinking about,” I conclude. Well, that was a hot mess.

 

Peeta has stopped what he was doing to listen to my speech, and now that I’ve finished, he turns away from me to stir the stew. It looks almost like he’s trying to stifle his laughter, but I’m not certain because his voice sounds normal when he speaks to me again. “Sure, if that’s what you want,” he says.

 

“I just thought that, since we have so little time together anyway…” I trail off. I guess I don’t actually have to keep trying to convince him. “God, why is this so embarrassing?”

 

“It’s fine, Katniss,” he reassures me. “I was going to sleep on the couch, but I’d much rather be with you. And in my own bed,” he admits.

 

“You don’t mind, like…not doing anything but sleeping?” I ask.

 

He shoots me an exasperated look. “Katniss. We’re not going to do _anything_ that we don’t both want. Period. Stop worrying about it.”

 

He turns briefly back to the stew before coming to join me on the couch. “That needs to cook for awhile,” he explains. He puts his arm around me and I curl into his side. We stay like that for a long time, just catching up on being with each other as our dinner cooks. We reacquaint ourselves with the feeling of our lips and our bodies touching. I feel like I’m melting.

 

But soon – _too soon_ – I force myself to pull away. Something is definitely building within me, but I know I’m not ready for it yet. Peeta seems to understand, and if it bothers him, he doesn’t say anything.

 

And besides, there’s something I want to talk about. You’d think that after my little performance asking him to _sleep with me_ just now I’d be done talking for the night, but I can’t seem to stop.

 

Neither of us has once acknowledged anything about the decision I made or the fact that we’re in a real, honest-to-god relationship now. I’ve been purposely avoiding the topic, and maybe Peeta has too. But it’s been nagging me, in the back of my mind, and I feel like I have to say something. I don’t want him to think that this isn’t important to me.

 

“Peeta, I…” I stop, biting my lip as I search for the right words. What I finally say is a poor expression of my feelings, but it’s all I can manage right now. “I’m really happy to be here.”

 

“Good,” he says, planting a light kiss on the top of my head. “That’s what I want.”

 

“No, I mean, I’m happy that we’re finally _together_ ,” I add, hoping to better convey what I’m trying to say. “Not like, here in Chicago, but really…together now. Does that make sense?”

 

I hear Peeta chuckle quietly at my words. “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asks teasingly.

 

“Yes,” I admit, blushing as I look away from him. “I think…this is right for us.” I sigh. That’s the best I’m going to be able to do.

 

“I _know_ it is,” Peeta says emphatically. He pauses a moment before adding, “But I didn’t think it was going to happen.”

 

I pull my head off of his chest and look up at him. “Really? Did you think I was just going to give up?” I ask.

 

He shrugs. “Maybe.” Seeing my hurt look, he rushes to add, “But I wouldn’t have blamed you for it. I don’t enjoy the fact that my girlfriend lives 700 miles away either.”

 

I look away thoughtfully – I hate being reminded of that fact. Settling back into his side, I ask, “Do you think we can _do_ this? You know, make it work?”

 

“Yes,” Peeta replies without hesitation.

 

I smile to myself at his confidence. I need him to feel that way, because if he isn’t strong, I don’t think I can be either.

 

“Then it’s settled,” I say, reaching up and giving him a playful kiss on the cheek. Peeta wraps his arms around me tightly in a brief hug before getting up to check on our dinner.

 

As I watch him walk into the kitchen, I notice that I’m feeling a little lighter and a little less burdened by the weight of my feelings. Peeta’s certain about this – about _us_. And I’m getting there too. If we can do this right – if we can figure out how to be together even though we live far apart – I know it’ll be worth it.

__________

 

It’s a beautiful, late September day in DC. The sky is that perfectly clear, liquid blue, and the weather has cooled down just enough that it’s comfortable sitting here in my car with the windows open. I glance at my cell phone – Peeta should be calling me any minute to tell me his flight has arrived.

 

The last two months have been busy. I’ve been working a ton – even on the weekends – and consequently it’s been difficult for me to make time to see Peeta. Since my trip to Chicago in July, we’ve seen each other exactly three times. I managed to go back to Chicago twice, and Peeta came to DC once. The longest that we spent together was Labor Day weekend in Chicago; I managed to take a day off from work, so we had four days and three nights together.

 

I hate that we get to spend so little time together, and it’s not getting any easier with time. Especially since we’ve been growing closer and more comfortable with each other with each passing day. We’ve both learned a lot about each other over the past few months, and everything I learn just makes me care about him more. It also makes it harder for me to let him go every time I see him. It’s almost cruel.

 

I’ve still managed to avoid meeting the Mellarks in a large group setting. (Peeta tells me it’s only a matter of time, though.) But his dad and his brothers – who all work at the bakery with him – treat me almost like family and I genuinely enjoy being around them. When the four of them are together at the same time, there’s so much talking and joking that they barely even notice how quiet I am. They don’t pressure me to talk when I don’t want to, but every now and then I make an effort just to show them that I do appreciate them.

 

Peeta and Prim are practically best friends now. I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out that they exchange more texts than Peeta and I do. Peeta assures me that they almost always talk about me. I’m not so sure I find that reassuring.

 

The hardest part of this relationship for me – okay, _beyond_ our inevitable goodbyes and the long stretches of time spent apart – is the fact that we have to spend so much time communicating by phone, or text, or Skype. I just feel awkward. I want our communication to be meaningful, but I don’t know what to say without it sounding forced. I can _talk_ to Peeta about everyday things, but to really talk in a way that furthers or deepens our relationship – I don’t even know where to start with that. Thankfully Peeta’s there with me, but I can’t help but feel that our conversations must not be very satisfying for him. He hasn’t mentioned feeling like they’re one-sided…

 

But when we’re together, everything’s okay. Since my awkward outburst at Peeta’s apartment in July, we’ve shared a bed every single night during visits. That’s probably my favorite time we spend together. I sleep so peacefully when he’s next to me – there’s something comforting about having his warmth beside me, whether we’re in his bed or mine.

 

We still haven’t had sex though. It’s not that I don’t want to – I do. Or at least a part of me does. But I also wonder if we’ve spent enough time together – I mean, physically in each other’s presence – to be ready for that. Prim teases me that I’m waiting for some kind of magical sign to tell me I’m ready. Maybe she’s right and I’m being unrealistic.

 

God, I hope she doesn’t talk about any details of our sex-related conversations with Peeta. I make a mental note to ask her about that later.

 

It’s not as if Peeta and I just lie there in bed politely chatting before we give each other a quick peck good night. I’m only human, and Peeta is hard to resist. We’ve spent a lot of time exploring each other’s bodies with our hands and our mouths, but there’s only so far I’m willing to take it. Still, I feel like each time I see him, the line gets pushed a little bit further.

 

I’ve always been a bit nervous about getting anywhere near sex with my boyfriends, mostly for fear of getting hurt, I guess. Since Gale, I really haven’t slept with many guys. He was the first, and it took a while after we broke up for me to even consider having sex with anyone else. 

 

But even though we’re not intimate like that, I love – _love_ – lying in bed with Peeta, doing absolutely nothing in particular. Just memorizing how it feels to have him near me is perfect. I love falling asleep that way, I love waking up that way. I don’t even mind that I’ve caught him staring at me a few times when he thought I was asleep. I may have done the same thing to him.

 

I’m slowly letting my guard down. I feel it and I’m okay with that. After all, he hasn’t given me any reason to doubt him. The enormous effort to communicate with me when we aren’t together (more than I’d like sometimes, to be honest) in order to keep this relationship on-track is mind-blowing. Given the distance, it’d be very easy to let things slide. The effort he’s making is impressive.

 

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of my text message tone. My phone’s been clenched in my hand this entire time and I smile as I see Peeta’s name appear on the screen. He’s here. I put my car into drive and set off to meet him. I leave these thoughts for another time.

__________

 

“Peeta!” I whisper harshly. “Not right now – we’re in public!” Yes, it’s pitch black outside and no, there’s no one around. But still. He can keep his hands to himself for four more blocks.

 

Peeta laughs as I push him away, but immediately grabs my waist and pulls me back toward him. I’ll allow it as long as he doesn’t get any more handsy than this.

 

We’re walking back from the Metro after dinner at one of my favorite Indian places. Sharing such a delicious meal with Peeta has put me in a very good mood, and since he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off me all night, I’m guessing Peeta’s in a good mood, too. I laugh and jerk away as I feel his hand slip under my shirt and tickle my side.

 

I run a few feet ahead of him and call over my shoulder, “I’m keeping this much space between us all night.”

 

He speeds up to catch me, grabbing my hand in both of his. “No, I promise I’ll be good,” he pleads, putting his head on my shoulder.

 

“Fine, let’s just get home,” I tell him, pulling him along with me.

 

Hand-in-hand, we walk briskly back to my apartment. I can see Peeta grinning at me out of the corner of my eye, but I resolutely refuse to look in his direction. He’s just trying to distract me.

 

When we get inside, the apartment is silent. Prim will be at the hospital working all night tonight, so we have the place to ourselves. I’m glad, because Peeta’s leaving tomorrow and I’d like to have some time alone. We convinced Prim to join us for dinner last night, but of course that meant we didn’t have any privacy. Tonight it’s just the two of us.

 

Peeta wanders into the kitchen to get some water to drink while I run upstairs to change into my pajamas. When I come back down, he’s settled in on the couch watching television. I slide in next to him and he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

 

“Getting comfortable?” he teases.

 

“Yes I am,” I answer unapologetically. “We’re not going out again tonight, are we?” He shakes his head and continues flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch.

 

“It’s still early though,” he says absently.

 

“Yeah.” I lean against his chest and place my hand on his knee.

 

Peeta finally settles on watching a baseball game that neither of us is particularly interested in. As we watch silently, he reaches for the hair tie keeping my braid in place and slowly removes it. He threads his fingers through the strands of my hair and until he’s released it completely.

 

“I love your hair down,” he murmurs as he massages my scalp. God, that feels good. I close my eyes and relax further into him.

 

After a few minutes, I feel him shift and start placing small, soft kisses along my neck. I wasn’t paying attention to the baseball game before, but I certainly can’t concentrate on it now.

 

“You’re making me miss the game,” I joke quietly.

 

“Who cares?” he mumbles into my neck. “Neither of these teams are going to the playoffs.”

 

I turn toward him and wind my arms around his neck. “Then why are we wasting time on it anyway?” I say quietly into his ear.

 

Shifting back slightly, I move my mouth to find his. A small groan escapes from him as he responds to my touch. I shiver as he gently slides his hands under my shirt and slowly rubs my back.

 

“Maybe we should go upstairs,” I whisper against his mouth. His only response is to pull me even closer and move his lips insistently against mine. But I feel him remove one of his hands from my back before the television goes quiet.

 

He breaks our contact and abruptly pulls me to stand. Placing his hands on either side of my face, he gives me a deep, lingering kiss. “Let’s go,” he tells me, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the stairs.

 

“You’re sure?” I ask him shyly.

 

“Are you?” he says seriously in response. His eyes are sincere. Of course they are; it’s Peeta.

 

I am absolutely sure, but in this state my words fail me. I pull him upstairs and into my bed. I’m relying on my actions to show him how I feel, and somehow I know that’s the right choice for tonight. For us.

__________

 

So I think I’ve discovered something I like better than waking up next to Peeta – waking up next to a _naked_ Peeta. I can’t imagine feeling any more content than I do right now, feeling our warm skin touching with no barriers between us.

 

Last night was wonderful and I have no regrets. It was finally the right time for us to take the next step in our relationship. Not to say that the sex was perfect – we still have a lot to learn about each other – but I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt. My only worry is that it’ll be even harder for me to let him go when he has to fly home today.

 

I don’t want to think about that right now, though. I’m just going to lie here in Peeta’s arms and try to prolong this moment as much as I can.

 

Soon, though, I hear Peeta’s steady breathing start to change and I know he’s awake. He doesn’t say anything; like me, I don’t think he’s ready to face the day just yet. After a few minutes, once I’m certain he really is awake, I slowly turn in his arms to face him.

 

“Good morning,” I tell him, placing my hand on his cheek.

 

He moves to cover my hand with his own, and then brings it to his lips. “Morning to you too,” he answers.

 

“I don’t really want to get out of bed yet,” I whisper.

 

Peeta softly chuckles and draws me closer to him, tucking my head under his chin. “Let’s just stay right here then,” he says.

 

“Mmm…that sounds perfect,” I mumble as I close my eyes. We lie together in silence, our bodies entwined, for several more minutes.

 

“Katniss?” Peeta says, finally breaking our reverie. “I think you’ve figured out how to avoid meeting my family indefinitely – I don’t think we’ll be leaving my bedroom next time you come visit me.”

 

I give him a small, playful shove, but he pulls me back toward him for a long, deep kiss. “I mean it, you know,” he murmurs when he breaks away.

 

“I’ve seen enough of Chicago anyway,” I tease him.

 

“Good,” he says, rolling me onto my back and hovering over me. I wrap my legs around him as our mouths find each other again. I’m not paying any attention to the sounds we’re making – and we’re certainly not being quiet – when suddenly I hear the shower turn on.

 

I push Peeta off me abruptly and cover his mouth with my hand. “Prim!” I whisper to him.

 

He pries my hand gently off his mouth and returns to his previous position on top of me. “So?” he questions, looking down at me. He lowers his head, turning his attentions to my neck this time, and starts doing something amazing with his tongue. I have to bite my lip to keep quiet.

 

“Peeta,” I say, gasping. “She could hear us.”

 

“You’re just going to have to be quiet,” he mumbles into my neck, continuing to tease me.

 

“You…ah…just like embarrassing me,” I pant, barely able to form words anymore. All I can focus on is how his mouth feels as it moves down my neck.

 

I feel him nodding as he continues to move his head lower, down my neck and toward my chest. “Maybe. Should I stop?” he whispers. I shudder at the feel of his warm breath on my skin.

 

I try to think coherently, try to care that Prim is in the next room, but I’m lost. “No,” I tell him. “Please don’t stop.”


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! Keep them coming!
> 
> As always, thanks to my beta sunfishdunes for all her help.
> 
> Also, if you aren’t aware, a second chapter of the Peeta POV of this story has been posted. Link is in my profile. Follow me on tumblr (soamazinghere) to keep up-to-date on all story-related developments! ☺

Aunt Effie is nothing if not predictable. Somehow she _always_ picks up the phone after exactly two rings.

 

I listen patiently. One ring. Two rings. “Hello?”

 

“Hi, Aunt Effie,” I greet her brightly. “How’s everything with you?”

 

“Katniss! It’s been so long since I heard your voice!” Effie exclaims. I roll my eyes – she and I spoke four days ago. She _always_ greets me like I’m her long-lost daughter who just returned home. “Things are the same as ever here. How are things with you and your young man?”

 

Here we go. Ever since Peeta and I became a couple, she no longer asks me how _I_ am doing. It’s _always_ “you and your young man” or “you and Peeta,” as if somehow my own identity has been subsumed in the couple. I try to remind myself that that’s just how her brain works, but it still irks me.

 

Anyway, at this point (since this is pretty much how our conversations always start) I usually deflect her question or ignore the part about Peeta. I’m pretty sure she gets sufficient details about Peeta from Prim, but I know that she wants to hear it from me. Today, I’m going to surprise her…by actually answering.

 

“We’re doing really well. I was just in Chicago last weekend, remember?”

 

“That’s right. Did the two of you have a wonderful time together?” she asks.

 

“Of course we did, Effie,” I say, smiling to myself. It had been a chilly October weekend, and we spent most of our time doing, um… _indoor activities_. Effie doesn’t have to know about that, though. “I got to meet Peeta’s brother’s fiancée, Lydia. We all went out to dinner together.”

 

“Oh, how nice. I suppose I’d assumed that Peeta’s brothers were already married. They’re older aren’t they?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” I respond. “Ryan’s about 30, I think. He’s the oldest – they’re getting married in the spring. Peeta’s other brother isn’t married either,” I add.

 

“Do you think you’ll be in Chicago before the wedding?” Effie asks.

 

“Um…” I trail off, confused. What exactly is she asking? “If they invite me, I’ll go out for the wedding, sure.”

 

“Well, yes, but don’t you think you’ll be living in Chicago by then?” Now Effie’s the one who sounds confused.

 

“What? Why would I live in Chicago?!” I exclaim.

 

“Surely you and Peeta plan to –”

 

“You think I’ll be _living_ with Peeta?” I ask incredulously. “We’ve only been together for a month, Effie.”

 

“Well, dear, how is your relationship with this young man going to progress if you live here?” she replies.

 

“Uh, well…um,” I stammer. “I don’t exactly know, but we’ll figure things out. I _do_ know that I’m staying here in DC. I’m not leaving you and Prim,” I state.

 

“Perhaps Peeta’s planning to move to DC,” she suggests.

 

“He’s not planning anything without _me_ ,” I retort. “Besides, he’s got to stay in Chicago. He’s going to take over the bakery when his dad retires.”

 

Effie’s silent. “So…where’s your relationship heading then? I just assumed that you wanted to be together.”

 

“We _are_ together…just not all the time,” I tell her. “And I’m okay with that.” That last part is kind of a lie, but I’m not ready to get into all the emotional details with Aunt Effie.

 

“Is Peeta okay with it?” she asks.

 

“Of course he is!” In fact, he seems to handle this long-distance thing much better than I am. In fact, it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. “We’re just not serious enough to consider living together yet.”

 

“Katniss,” Effie begins, then pauses thoughtfully. “Forgive me for being nosy, but I have to say this. Primrose told me that you and Peeta have…have _been together_.” She says this last part as suggestively as possible to ensure that I understand her meaning. I do, and I’m mortified. “That sounds pretty serious to me.”

 

I’m stunned into silence. _Seriously_ , Prim? She and I are going to have to talk when she gets home later.

 

When I don’t say anything, Effie continues, “I just don’t want you to get hurt, dear. And you’re 26 now! By the time I was your age, Haymitch and I had already been married for six years! You’ve got to start thinking of your future.”

 

Here she goes again with the assumption that I need to get married to be happy. I take a few deep breaths before responding as diplomatically as I can. “We’re…happy with the way things are right now, Effie. Both of us. Really.” I try to convince her.

 

“Alright, Katniss, but just think about what I said. Please?” she asks.

 

“Only if you think about what I said, too,” I reply.

 

She sniffles a little on the other end of the phone, laying it on real thick. “I’d just hoped to plan a wedding for one of you girls before I turn 60…”

 

“Effie,” I say, laughing, “that’s still nine years away!”

 

“Well, you and Primrose aren’t giving me much hope!” I feel better, because I can tell that she’s at least half-joking now. “In all seriousness, from what your sister tells me, Peeta makes you very happy, and what more can I want? No, no, what more can _you_ want?”

 

She’s right – Peeta _does_ make me happy. But I have to wonder about some of the things she pointed out, even though I brushed them off when she said them. Can we stay happy when we don’t have any long-term plan to be together? Should I worry about what it really means that I have no plans to move to Chicago and he has no plans to move to DC? Despite what I said, are we both really happy with things as they are? I _think_ we are, but…we’ve never really talked about it, have we?

 

I’m just not ready to face this yet.

 

“Thanks, Aunt Effie,” I say quietly. “Now, if you don’t mind hearing about someone _else’s_ wedding planning, let me tell you about the _horrific_ dresses that Ryan’s fiancée is making her bridesmaids wear…”

__________

 

The night before either of us travels to visit the other, Peeta and I always make a point to talk, even if it’s just to check in. It’s become almost a tradition for us, even though we don’t really _need_ to check in anymore.  It’s not as if we actually do much planning for our trips – we’re traveling to see _each other_ , not to go out and visit the tourist sites or try new restaurants. We don’t need to plan out itineraries or make arrangements to meet at the airport. We have a routine now. And I guess our evening-before-travel phone calls are part of that routine.

 

This time Peeta’s coming to see me, and it might be the last time we see each other for awhile. It’s the beginning of November, and with Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up over the next two months, I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get away from our families. We haven’t discussed holiday plans yet, but I’m assuming that between his huge extended family and a busy bakery season, he will have lots going on to occupy him.

 

“So, you have the email with my flight info?” Peeta asks me.

 

“Got it,” I confirm. “I’ll be waiting in the cell phone lot until you call.”

 

“Not too eager to see me, huh?” he teases. “Our days of meeting in the airport are past.”

 

I laugh loudly. “Watch yourself, or next time I’ll just send you a Metro ticket!”

 

“Ouch. I’ve heard all your horror stories – would you really do that to me?” he asks, feigning a wounded tone in his voice.

 

“No. Besides, you know I can’t wait to see you.”

 

“You’d see me sooner if you met me inside,” he says slyly.

 

“Maybe next time…if you’re good,” I warn him jokingly.

 

“That reminds me of something,” Peeta mentions hesitantly. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Well…have you noticed how expensive the plane tickets have been recently?” he asks.

 

“God, yes,” I tell him. “It’s insane.” A good chunk of my disposable income these days is spent traveling to see Peeta. And with the holidays coming up, ticket prices are getting higher every day. It’s one of the reasons I assume we won’t be seeing each other much over the next few months.

 

“I…uh…don’t know how much I’ll be able to come out to see you over the next few months. These tickets are getting hard for me to afford,” he admits.

 

“Well, after the holidays, prices might go down,” I say, trying to reassure him.

 

“It’s not just that though,” he continues. “I just…bakers don’t make a ton of money. I haven’t exactly budgeted for all these airplane tickets.”

 

I bit my lip and sit silently for a minute. “What are you trying to say?”

 

He sighs on the other end of the phone. “We just need to…figure something else out for the travel. Maybe we’ll have to just talk and Skype more, instead of seeing each other quite as often.”

 

My mouth drops open in shock. What exactly is he suggesting? In my mind, there’s no substitute for actually seeing each other. This is a recipe for disaster.

 

I respond in typically eloquent Katniss fashion. “Are you serious?” I ask bluntly.

 

“It’s just an idea, Katniss.”

 

“Yeah, a _really_ bad one. You’re saying that we should stop _seeing_ each other.”

 

“Fine,” he says in a clipped tone. “You could just travel to see me more.”

 

“I’m already spending about as much as I can afford,” I tell him, frustrated.

 

I hear him take a deep breath. “Don’t you get it, Katniss? I’m already spending _more_ than I can afford.” He’s silent for a moment before continuing quietly. “You make a lot more money than I do.”

 

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. He’s probably right that I make more money than him, but I feel…almost offended that he’d mention it. It’s like he’s expecting me to make more of an effort in this relationship because I have more money. An uncomfortably long period of time passes before Peeta speaks up again.

 

“Katniss, look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything – ”

 

I snap out of my reverie. “No, it’s fine,” I say coldly. “I just need to think.”

 

Peeta can tell that I’m angry because he tries to snap me out of it. “Please, Katniss, don’t do this. I want us to be happy when we see each other tomorrow,” he pleads.

 

“It’ll be fine,” I say quietly.

 

“I still want to see you,” he tells me.

 

“I want to see you too,” I say, sighing. “But I guess it’s getting late, so maybe we should go.”

 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Katniss?” Peeta asks.

 

Avoiding his question completely, I tell him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Peeta. Good night.”

 

“Good night,” he responds reluctantly as he hangs up.

 

I throw my phone down angrily on the bed and cross my arms over my chest. The only thing helping me survive this whole long-distance relationship is _seeing Peeta_. In person. Not over the phone, and not on a stupid computer screen. And here he is suggesting that we need to cut back on the one thing that gets me through it all?

 

Is there some other reason that he doesn’t want to see me? He was so quick to suggest cutting back our visits, even before he asked me to pick up more of the travel. Peeta sounded reluctant, but still.

 

He can’t even spare a weekend a month for me? What else is so important?

 

I reach up to touch my cheek and realize that I’ve started crying. I never used to cry, not before I was with Peeta. And now he’s trying to avoid me and doing who knows what behind my back. Is he really worth all this pain?

 

I’m seeing him tomorrow too. How the hell am I going to face him now?

__________

 

“Here you go,” I say, settling next to Peeta on the couch and handing him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. We just got back from taking a walk over to the Eastern Market for some groceries, and it was pretty chilly outside. Well, I thought so anyway. Peeta teased me for thinking _this_ was cold. But I don’t see him turning down my hot chocolate.

 

“This is delicious,” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I thought you said you couldn’t cook?”

 

I nearly choke on my drink as I laugh. I place my mug on the coffee table and give Peeta a playful shove. “Does stirring chocolate powder into hot water count as cooking? But take a look at this,” I tell him, pulling up my sleeve and showing him an angry red mark on my forearm near my elbow. “I spilled boiling water on myself making this. So you better enjoy it!”

 

“Katniss!” Peeta exclaims, gently taking my arm and examining the burn. “How did you even get water on yourself there? Are you okay?”

 

I stare at him blankly. “I don’t have the first idea how I end up with most of my kitchen-related injuries. If I did, maybe I wouldn’t have so many.”

 

“You _do_ have lots of scars, and in the weirdest places. And I thought I had a lot from growing up in a bakery,” Peeta tells me.

 

I nod my head. “Yeah, and very few people have the privilege of knowing that.” Dropping my voice, I add jokingly, “It’s because you’ve seen me with my clothes off!”

 

Peeta leans his head back against the couch, laughing. Suddenly he reaches over and grabs me, pulling me into his lap. Our foreheads touch and we smile broadly at each other. “I’m glad I know you well enough to see all your scars,” he murmurs sweetly.

 

I climb off his lap and pick up my hot chocolate, drinking it slowly as I lean against his chest. Thankfully, this weekend has been going really well. Not at all awkward as I feared it might be after our argument on the phone.

 

Okay, to tell the truth, when he first arrived, we were both a little…touchy. I was still pretty tense from our conversation, but I had no desire to continue discussing the subject. And neither one of us has directly acknowledged it since Peeta got here. We’ve just avoided talking about it. I wouldn’t have a clue how to broach the subject without ruining the rest of our weekend, anyway.

 

After a few minutes of warming up and drinking our hot chocolate in companionable silence, Peeta speaks up. “How did you grow up living with your aunt and not end up with at least a few cooking skills?”

 

I shrug and shake my head. “Who knows? Effie beats herself up all the time about that one. I just spent most of my time outside, running around in the woods.”

 

“Will she be impressed that I can cook?” Peeta asks.

 

I pause for a moment to think. Effie usually appreciates pretty traditional gender roles, but she’ll probably be relieved that Peeta can cook, since she knows how useless I am in that realm. “I think she’s going to love you. You can be…kinda charming,” I tell him, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair.

 

“Did we buy everything we need for dinner tonight?”

 

“We bought everything on the list,” I reply. “So we should be ready.”

 

Tonight Effie and Peeta are going to meet in person for the first time. They are both _very_ excited; I, of course, am nervous. I don’t have a good reason to be apprehensive, though. Peeta can make friends with anyone, and I know he’s going to go out of his way to make Effie like him. (As if there was any chance she wouldn’t.) Effie is always perfectly polite and sociable when meeting new people, and it helps that she’s cooking. She’s really in her element when she’s in the kitchen.

 

But it feels like a big step to be introducing Peeta to the woman who is, for all intents and purposes, my mother. Especially since I know that she has high hopes for this relationship succeeding.

 

I’ve told Peeta all about my parents and what happened to them, and how Prim and I ended up with Effie. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve never told _anyone_ I’ve dated about that part of my life before. Well, since Gale anyway. But I didn’t have to tell Gale about it; he already knew the story because we grew up together.

 

The story of my parents’ death definitely shocked Peeta. I felt a little bit bad for him because he so clearly didn’t know what to say to me. At least he didn’t try to say he was sorry or offer any empty platitudes like people are inclined to do. He actually apologized to me for complaining about his mom, since (as he reminded me guiltily) she’s still alive. I barely even remembered him talking about her, it was so many weeks ago. I tried to reassure him that I can talk about my parents’ death now without breaking down; it was years ago.

 

I didn’t necessarily want to tell Peeta about my mom and dad, but I didn’t really see any other way to explain to him who Effie is, exactly. She’s not a blood relative and she’s not my biological mom. I suppose I could have gotten away with giving Peeta just a few details. He’d never pry because he’s not that kind of person, but he also deserves to know about my past. We are a couple, after all. And I feel like I don’t share enough with him, not that he ever complains.

 

I turn toward Peeta suddenly. “Effie’s really going to like you, you know. I hope you like her too,” I say.

 

Peeta wraps his arms around me and tucks my head under his chin. “How could I not like her? She raised one of my favorite people…and you too,” he jokes.

 

I squirm out of his arms and give him a mock glare. “Well, your new BFF will be dropping Effie off in about an hour. She probably spent the entire drive here talking about how great you are.”

 

“No pressure or anything though, right?” Peeta says in an amused voice.

 

“Oh please,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “You’ll _more than_ live up to whatever praise she gave you. And when in doubt, just compliment Effie’s food.”

 

“Prim also told me to keep you out of the kitchen.” Peeta mentions.

 

“You won’t even have to try. I’m not getting anywhere near there tonight! Well, except to eavesdrop and make sure she doesn’t tell you any embarrassing stories about me,” I admit.

 

“I think I’m going to like your aunt,” Peeta tells me confidently.

 

“Of course you will. You like everyone,” I tease him, patting the side of his face.

 

“No I don’t!” Peeta protests.

 

I stand up and reach out my hands to Peeta, pulling him to stand. “Let’s go get ready for Effie and Prim. Come on.”

 

I send Peeta into the kitchen to clean up for dinner, while I putter around in the dining room.

 

“Why isn’t Effie staying over tonight?” Peeta calls to me.

 

“Oh, she never stays. Well, almost never,” I explain. “She prefers being at home. She hates the city.”

 

“Prim and Effie will get back home awfully late, won’t they?”

 

“Probably,” I agree. “But it’s what she wants.” I lean on the kitchen door and watch Peeta working. “Plus, do you really want a houseful of people to interrupt anything we might want to do later tonight?” I ask, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

 

Finishing the last of the dishes, Peeta comes and leans against me in the doorway, giving me a slow, soft kiss that almost leaves me breathless. My arms wind around his waist as he leans his head close to my ear. “Do you have plans for later tonight, Ms. Everdeen?” he whispers.

 

I pull away and trail my hands slowly down his arms, linking our hands together. Looking him directly in the eye, I wink and tell him, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

__________

 

Just as I expected, Peeta and Effie are getting along fabulously. Almost too well, really. Between the two of them and Prim, it’s like they’ve forgotten I’m even here. One of the consequences of being exiled from the kitchen, I suppose.

 

I slump down on the couch and scowl toward the kitchen as I try to read a book. But I can’t stop myself from straining to hear their conversation. If I find the right opening, maybe I can jump in with something witty and help them remember that I exist.

 

I snort to myself. “Witty” has never been a word that anyone has used to describe me. And the three of them are talking over each other so fast that I don’t stand a chance.

 

Tonight Effie’s making her homemade mac n’cheese, which is quite possibly my favorite dish in the entire world. Aside from her fried chicken. And maybe a few other dishes that she mostly makes for the holidays. Okay, who am I kidding? I love everything she makes and now that I don’t live with her, it’s such a treat to taste her cooking. I hope there are leftovers.

 

But the three of them have been holed up in the kitchen for at least 30 minutes now. How long does it take to boil pasta and throw some cheese on it? I stare intently at the kitchen door, trying to telepathically communicate that I’m feeling neglected.

 

But they’ll never catch my telepathy over…whatever it is that’s making them laugh so loud. Probably jokes at my expense. What else could they possibly have to talk about? I’m the common denominator here.

 

I would just go over and squeeze in the kitchen with them, but when I tried that earlier, Prim kicked me out. Literally, she _kicked_ the back of my knee and made me collapse and fall through the swinging door. I caught myself on the dining table though, so at least there’s no permanent damage. Prim apologized profusely, but said it was my fault for coming into the kitchen just as she was demonstrating a dance move to Peeta. ( _Excuse me_? Since when does Prim dance? Since when does _Peeta_ dance? And this is normal _kitchen_ behavior?)

 

I stand up and stretch, walking to the windows that overlook the street in front of our house. I’m staring absently into the distance when I feel Peeta’s arms snake around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “You ready to eat?” he asks.

 

“Oh, you guys want me to join you for your meal? That’s so sweet,” I answer sarcastically.

 

“Come on,” he says, pulling me to the table. “Everything’s done.”

 

As he leaves me to return to the kitchen for the food, I yell at his back, “I better not have to clean all your dishes! I could’ve helped cook!”

 

Just then, Prim and Effie emerge through the swinging door. Prim is carefully handling a steaming casserole dish of the macaroni, while Effie manages a large bowl of salad. When I smell the cheesy goodness, I immediately forget my annoyance from earlier.

 

“What’s this green stuff getting in the way of my mac n’cheese?” I ask, wrinkling my nose distastefully. “I don’t think I’m going to have any room for that tonight.” I start shoveling macaroni onto my plate.

 

“Katniss,” Effie admonishes me, “surely you don’t want your boyfriend to see you eating like that!”

 

Peeta laughs as he enters the dining room. “Isn’t that how she always eats?”

 

I nearly spit out the (admittedly large) bite of macaroni that I just stuffed into my mouth. “Boyfriend?” I say, looking around in confusion. “What boyfriend? If I had a boyfriend, and if he were here right now, I’m sure he would have nothing but flattering things to say about me.”

 

Peeta sits down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. “I _meant_ to say that I’ve never even noticed Katniss eating because I’m constantly blinded by her radiant beauty.”

 

“Better,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Now you can eat.”

 

“Thank god, I’m starving,” he mumbles as he loads his plate with food.

 

“You two are adorable,” Prim says gleefully. “I was just telling Peeta what a cute couple you guys make.”

 

I blush and ignore her, looking down at my food.

 

“Peeta, dear,” Effie says, “I don’t remember the last time I saw Katniss so happy. It must be because of you! You’re such a good influence.”

 

“Well, she does the same for me,” Peeta says, reaching under the table and squeezing my free hand. “I’m glad she keeps me around.”

 

“She hasn’t had a boyfriend for so long,” Effie prattles on. “I was starting to think that Gale had ruined her for other men.”

 

This time I really do choke. I cough and sputter and pound on my chest, all the while giving Prim a panicked look. She understands that it has nothing to do with the macaroni currently lodged in my throat, and does her best to change the subject.

 

“Katniss!” she exclaims with an overly concerned tone in her voice. “Are you alright? Can you breathe?”

 

Everyone is looking at me, which I’d normally hate, but at least they’re not talking about Gale. I take a large gulp of my water. “I’m okay,” I say, letting out a few final coughs. “Just, uh, swallowed funny.”

 

To his credit, Peeta doesn’t acknowledge the comment about Gale, but he does give me a funny look that I can’t quite read. I make another attempt at telepathic communication, letting him know that we’ll talk later. It just never occurred to me to tell him about Gale before. He only even knows about Seneca because we ran into him during dinner. I don’t think my past relationships are relevant to the current one.

 

Thankfully Effie lets the topic drop, and we continue with our meal. I keep shooting guilty looks at Peeta, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Prim does her best to take over the conversation, and she does a good job steering away from any potentially embarrassing topics. Although he’s a bit quieter than normal, Peeta seems fine. Maybe he didn’t even notice the Gale comment.

 

I’ll have to see how he acts when we’re alone, then figure out what, if anything, I need to tell him.

__________

 

So, yeah, I’m pretty sure Peeta heard the Gale comment. As much as I’d like to believe that he didn’t, I can’t think of any other reason why he’d be so uncharacteristically quiet tonight. He’s barely said anything to me as we’ve been getting ready for bed.

 

On the bright side, he and Effie seem to get along really well. As she left, Effie whispered in my ear that’s she optimistic that she’ll be planning our wedding within the next year. She hasn’t been this excited about a boyfriend of mine since, well…since Gale. She was dying to tell me more about what she thinks of Peeta, but she kept it to herself. For now. I’m sure she’ll call me as soon as Peeta goes home.

 

Thank god she and Prim are driving back to Virginia together tonight. That should get some of the gushing out of her system.

 

As I stand in front of the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth, I find myself rapidly losing my earlier resolve to talk to Peeta. As much as I know that’s what I need to do, I just can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know what to reveal, or how much, or even what _exactly_ is bothering him. I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth, or say too much and make him more worried or mad than he already is.

 

Shows how well I know him that I can’t even tell whether he’s worried, or mad, or something else entirely. The thought depresses me.

 

I slowly pad down the hallway and back into my bedroom. Peeta’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest. This just isn’t like him.

 

Sighing, I sink down on the edge of the bed. Time to be the bigger person in this relationship, for once. “What’s wrong?” I ask tentatively.

 

Peeta gives me a slight smile and shakes his head. “Nothing, sweetie. Let’s just go to bed.”

 

“I won’t be able to sleep, Peeta. You’re not being _you_ tonight,” I tell him.

 

I crawl under the covers with him, laying my head on his chest. We lie together in silence for a few minutes, with nothing but the sound of our breathing to fill the room. Finally I speak up. “Was it…what Effie said?”

 

I hear him let out a long, deep breath. “Effie said a lot of things. Which do you mean?” he asks.

 

“About Gale.”

 

I lift my head to see his reaction. He bites his lip and sits up, staring off into the distance. “It doesn’t matter to me that you’ve had boyfriends in the past, Katniss. But Effie made it sound so…serious, and this is the first I’ve even heard his name.”

 

I struggle to sit up and lean against the headboard. Would it make Peeta feel better to know more about my relationship with Gale? I consider what I might tell him. “Um…Gale was my best friend for years and years. We grew up together. And he was my boyfriend in college until he moved away. That’s…pretty much it,” I explain. “We haven’t spoken in years,” I add quickly.

 

Peeta shakes his head and looks away from me. “You don’t have to justify yourself. I’m not _jealous_ of this guy,” he says wearily.

 

“What is it then?” I plead. I just don’t get it – what does he need to know?

 

“It’s just…” he struggles to explain, “it’s a part of you I don’t know anything about.”

 

I look down at the blanket and pick at some tiny pieces of lint. “I don’t know anything about any of your old girlfriends either,” I mention. It doesn’t seem to reassure him.

 

“Well, I can tell you that there’s _no one_ who could be described as ‘ruining me for other women,’” he says bitterly.

 

I don’t respond. I cross my arms over my chest and clench my jaw. None of this is my fault – why is he attacking me?

 

Eventually I see Peeta looking at me out of the corner of my eye. He sighs loudly. “I’m sorry, Katniss. It’s just…” he trails off and turns to face me. “There’s so much more about you I want to know. I don’t know if it’s the distance or what, I just don’t know how to do it. It just seems like everyone here knows you better than I do.”

 

“I…never thought about that before,” I admit. “I guess I assumed we’d share what’s important when it comes up.” I furrow my brow in thought for a moment. “Isn’t that how it works in real life too? I mean, not that this isn’t real life, it’s just…different. But even if I lived in Chicago, I might not tell you everything about me unless I had a reason to. You know?”

 

Peeta nods. “This just feels…messed up, somehow. It’s like we don’t have many chances to learn important details about each other. Or even random little details.”

 

“I don’t know what to do about that,” I admit.

 

“Maybe this is just one of those things,” Peeta says thoughtfully.

 

“One of what things?”

 

“I don’t know…I guess one of the ways that a long-distance relationship is different. One of the things we have to figure out,” he explains.

 

“Oh,” I say glumly. “I hate _those things_.”

 

Peeta turns and reaches him arms toward me. “Come here.”

 

I go willingly into his arms, burying my face in his chest. “I’m sorry, Peeta.”

 

“Shh,” he says, gently stroking my hair. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. _I’m_ sorry for putting a damper on the evening.”

 

I laugh tiredly into his chest. “I wish this was easier, though.”

 

“Me too,” he admits.

 

“I’ll tell you anything about me you want to know, anytime,” I say, trying to offer him something reassuring. I know it’s not exactly what he wants or needs though.

 

We lie down again, next to each other. This evening has been so draining. And even though we just talked, I somehow still don’t feel content. Maybe we figured out what our problem is, but we sure as hell haven’t fixed anything. It’s pretty obvious that neither of us has a clue what to do.

 

Peeta and I cling to each other in the dark, intertwining our arms and legs, trying to comfort each other as best we can. Neither of us says anything – even Peeta seems to be all talked out for once.

 

Despite all the difficulties and all the uncertainty, I still feel like there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be when I’m with him. That’s got to count for something, right?

__________

 

What’s wrong with me? Seriously, _what is wrong with me_?

 

I’m never like this – _never_. I like to think I’m a very strong and stoic person, one who usually keeps her feelings on the inside and under control. I don’t often let myself cry, even when I’m alone – it just seems weak.

 

Today was the last day of my weekend with Peeta. Our last time together for awhile, I guess, since we haven’t really figured out the whole travel situation. We spent the morning together, never leaving my bed, until we finally were forced to get up and go to the airport.

 

After everything we’ve been through recently, fighting about plane ticket prices and old boyfriends, I put on a brave face when I wished him off. I wanted his memory of me to be a happy one. So I tried to make it seem like it hardly bothered me at all that he was leaving. If he saw me cry, he might start feeling sorry for me.

 

I definitely surprised him. So often when we part ways, we can see the pain in each other’s faces, and it always hurts me. This time, I tried to smile, I tried to joke, I tried to laugh. Peeta actually seemed kind of confused. I hope it made him feel better though. I could tell that he was sad, just like always, so I hope that seeing me hold myself together so well reassured him that I’m alright.

 

I don’t know if it worked, though. He still seemed to be bothered by something when he left, I just don’t know what it was.

 

But keeping myself together at the airport was all that I could manage. I was a blubbering mess by the time I got back to my car, and when I got home, I closed all the curtains in my room and went right back to bed.

 

Reaching over to the nightstand, I pick up my phone to check the time. It’s almost 6 o’clock. I’ve been lying here, crying on and off, for six hours. That’s pathetic.

 

Peeta’s texted me three times since he got home, and I ignored each one. I know I need to respond, but I find myself not knowing what to say. I read back through what he wrote.

 

“ _Just made it back home. I miss you already_.”

 

“ _Can I call you later_?”

 

“ _Are you okay_?”

 

I don’t want to worry him, so I finally respond. It’s inadequate, but it’s all I can manage. “ _I’m fine_.” I place the phone back on my nightstand and close my eyes.

 

My own reactions are confusing me. I can hardly get out of bed because I miss him so much, but I’m paralyzed when trying to figure out how to send him a simple text. And as much as I want to hear his voice, I don’t want him to call me later because I feel like I’ll break down. He’ll want to talk about our weekend or something, and I just…I can’t.

 

I’m so glad that Prim’s not here today. She’s decided that I need “support” whenever Peeta leaves, so when that happens on a day she’s off from work, she’s all over me the minute I walk back in the door. I’m not allowed to wallow, I’m not allowed the hide in bed, I have to eat, I have to get out of the house…basically she forces me to do everything I don’t feel like doing. And it makes her feel better if she sees me cry, like I’m having some sort of “emotional release” (no kidding, those were her exact words), even though I’m usually crying because I’m mad at her.

 

I sit up and squint at my phone. Why didn’t Peeta respond to my text? I’m actually surprised he didn’t just call me right away. A small sob escapes my throat before I even realize it. Doesn’t he care enough to try harder to find out if I’m really okay?

 

Something – okay, maybe _everything_ I’ve been thinking about – sets me off, and before long I’m weeping desperately into my pillow. And every time I think about Peeta, and our weekend, and our fighting, and the fact that he hasn’t called me, I get more and more despondent.

 

I thought that, with time, I’d adjust to being apart from him. That it’d get _easier_. I never imagined that it would actually be the opposite.

 

I see myself falling apart but I have no idea how to cope. Thinking of Peeta is painful on the best of days, even when I don’t have anything but happy thoughts. Today it’s just plain torture.

 

I miss the old Katniss, the one who could survive without anyone. I wonder if there’s a way to get her back?

__________

 

“Jo?” I say, poking my head into her office and looking around. I thought she was here, but –

 

“Need something, Everdeen?” says a voice close to my ear. I’m so startled I jump sideways, away from the voice, and slam my elbow into the wall.

 

“Ow!” I complain, cradling my elbow in my other hand. Johanna just laughs and waves me into her office.  I sit down, bending and straightening my arm as the pain slowly lessens.

 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she tells me. She takes off her glasses and raises her eyebrows at me. “How are things with the boyfriend?”

 

I shake my head in exasperation. Ignoring her question, I begin, “I stopped by to ask a question about your client – ”

 

Jo waves her hand to stop me. “No,” she says flatly. “First, we catch up. Then we can talk work.”

 

I glance behind me at the clock in the hallway. “But I have a meeting in – ” 

 

“Kat,” she says, leaning forward and staring at me wide-eyed. “Plutarch told me I need to be friendlier. So I’m asking you about your personal life. And you’re going to answer me. That’s part of the deal,” she informs me.

 

“Um…I don’t want to talk about it?” I say hesitantly, hoping that she’ll respect my wishes for the first time _ever_.

 

She shakes her head sadly. “That bad, huh?” She stands up and walks around her desk, giving me an awkward half-hug. “Is this comforting?” she asks.

 

I stiffen and lean away from her. “Uh…not really. You’re not a huggy person – did someone tell you to do this?”

 

She shrugs and returns to her chair. “Just testing out ‘friendly’ behaviors. Might need to use them on a client. At least, that’s what Plutarch tells me,” she mutters.

 

“Don’t ever hug your clients, Jo,” I advise her. “It’s weird.”

 

Nodding, she folds her hands on her desk in front of her. “That’s what I said. Anyway, you and what’s-his-name? On the outs?”

 

“Peeta. And no, we’re…fine.” It’s not the complete truth, but it’s not as if we just broke up or anything. We’re having a rough patch, that’s all. “I just _hate_ the long-distance thing…”

 

“Still?” she asks.

 

“Still,” I confirm. “So I’m trying something. If I don’t talk about him or think about him when we’re not together, it might help me miss him less.”

 

Jo leans towards me and points menacingly with a letter opener. (I honestly don’t think she realizes how scary she looks when she’s pointing with something sharp.) “That’s why my motto is ‘love the one you’re with,’” she explains helpfully, poking the letter opener onto her desk for emphasis with each word.

 

“Well, I’m not looking for a new relationship,” I say nervously, keeping my eye on the letter opener until she puts it away. “I’m just trying to cope better with the one I have.”

 

“Katniss, relationships shouldn’t have to be _coped with_ ,” Johanna informs me. “If it’s not working, get out.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder as she makes her point. “Besides, you can’t have been together for long enough to get attached yet.”

 

“Jo, I didn’t really come over here for you to solve my – ”

 

“Listen, Kat,” she interrupts me. “I know exactly what you need – a DC boyfriend! You have your DC guy when you’re not with Peeta, and Peeta the rest of the time. It’s perfect,” she says, looking at me expectantly. I think she’s waiting for me to compliment her idea.

 

“I’m still committed to Peeta,” I tell her. “And besides, if it were that easy to find a ‘DC boyfriend,’ as you call it, why would I have gotten myself a Chicago boyfriend?”

 

“Your problem is that you’re too picky.”

 

“No, I just _care_ about Peeta,” I reply.

 

Johanna stares at me for a moment before she speaks again. “So…you’re trying to pretend that you don’t have a boyfriend – so that you don’t _miss him_ or some crap like that – but you’re not taking advantage of the boyfriend-free time? Sounds like a lose-lose situation to me.”

 

I rub my hands over my face in frustration. Looking back up at Johanna, I explain, “I’m _not_ trying to pretend I don’t have a boyfriend.” And even if I were, this whole conversation isn’t helping.

 

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s stupid and clearly not working because all you’ve done since you got here is yap about Peeta!” she exclaims.

 

“Okay, Jo,” I say, standing abruptly. “I’ve got to go to a meeting. I’ll email you my question about your client.” I turn on my heel and stomp into the hallway.

 

I really don’t like Johanna, or anyone, questioning my decisions. (Granted, Prim hasn’t been very thrilled with my ‘don’t think about Peeta’ idea either.) I’m just trying to…I don’t know, protect myself, I guess. I’m not trying to pretend I have everything figured out – I clearly don’t. I’m just shooting in the dark, trying to find something that works.

 

I bite my lip and stare at the wall as I dial into my conference call. I say hi to the group and put my phone on mute, thankful that no one will be expecting me to talk today.

 

As I let my mind wander, a funny thought occurs to me – one that I feel almost ashamed to have never thought before – but I wonder how Peeta deals with this? How does he cope?

 

But I can’t ask him. What if I did, and found out that it’s really not hard for him at all? What if he feels sorry for me for having such strong feelings? What if he thinks I’m weak?

 

Nope. I have to trust my instincts here. Don’t think about Peeta. Don’t think about how I feel. Don’t think about when I’ll see him next. Don’t think about talking to him. Don’t lose control. I can do this on my own, without dragging Peeta into it. After all, I’ve always – _always_ – worked through my own problems. I don’t want anyone – especially Peeta – worrying about me.

 

 


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing new to add – but thanks for all your comments (keep them coming!), thanks to my beta sunfishdunes, and come say hi on tumblr (soamazinghere).

“Oh my gosh, we’ve got to go to his restaurant, Katniss! That looks _so good_!” Prim gushes, unable to tear her eyes away from the TV.

 

“Are you serious?” I ask through a large bite of pizza. “His stuff is always so pretentious. It’s all foams and gelées and crap like that.”

 

Prim glares at me. “You’re such a stick in the mud! If we’re ever in that town, I’m making you go with me,” she declares.

 

“He’s from…where again?”

 

“Somewhere in Wyoming,” she informs me. Given that we’ve never been to Wyoming – or hardly anywhere west of the Mississippi, really – it’s unlikely I’ll ever have to be forced to sit through twenty courses of this chef’s incredibly dainty-looking food. So I might as well agree just to mollify her.

 

“Alright, I’ll go with you,” I say.

 

Prim and I are spending a rare weeknight at home together. For once she has the evening off and I’m not traveling somewhere for work. With our busy schedules, this happens…almost never. I can’t even remember the last time we did this.

 

Usually Prim and I will spend our evenings together going out and trying new restaurants, but given that she’s living on a resident’s salary and I’ve been spending tons of money on plane tickets to go see Peeta, we decided to stay home. Even though we’re just eating takeout pizza in our pajamas, we’re getting our foodie fix by watching “Top Chef.”

 

“Ask Peeta what he thinks,” Prim suggests suddenly. 

 

I look up at her in confusion. “What?”

 

Prim rolls her eyes at me, gesturing toward the phone that I have hidden in my lap. “You’ve been on your phone all evening long,” she says. “Don’t tell me you’re not texting Peeta.”

 

I blush and guiltily remove the phone from where it rests on my knee. I thought I was doing a better job of being surreptitious. “Uh…no, I was just…” I bite my lip, trying to think of an excuse. As usual, I’m no good at thinking on my feet.

 

“Katniss!” Prim interrupts me, laughing. “You don’t need to make excuses for talking to Peeta.”

 

“Well, we were just talking about ‘Top Chef’ anyway,” I say, shrugging.

 

“Really? That’s _all_ you were talking about?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at me suggestively.

 

I give her a disgusted look. What, does she think Peeta and I would be sexting or something, while I’m eating dinner and hanging out with my sister? The thought horrifies me. “Actually, yes, that’s all,” I answer firmly. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

 

“Okay, then will you at least tell him ‘hi’ for me?”

 

I shake my head and point across the room to her phone. “You tell him yourself. I’m not your messenger.”

 

Prim huffs loudly and grabs another slice of pizza. She and I watch the show in silence for several minutes. From the table next to me, I hear my phone vibrate with a text message, but I ignore it. I just don’t want to give Prim the satisfaction. I try to casually glance at it out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t manage to sneak a look at it before the screen goes dark.

 

I try to turn my attention back to the TV, but I see Prim turn to me and open her mouth as if she wants to speak. She just sighs and turns back to the show.

 

“What is it?” I ask her.

 

“You can write back to Peeta, you know,” she tells me, nodding towards my phone. “I really don’t mind.”

 

“It’s fine, I know it’s nothing important,” I assure her.  Muttering under my breath, I add, “Ninety-nine percent of the time he calls me it’s not important.” Peeta and I have absolutely _mastered_ the art of talking about the most mundane things: work, our siblings, food…stuff like that.

 

Prim turns her head toward me sharply. “What did you say?”

 

I turn away from her and sigh loudly. “Nothing.”

 

Prim taps her foot on the floor and stares at me while I try my best to ignore her. “So, how’s everything with you and Peeta?”

 

“Fine,” I reply evenly, as I do my best to appear engrossed in the cooking challenge the chefs are completing.

 

“Katniss,” Prim starts, then trails off, furrowing her brow. She continues hesitantly, “Peeta’s worried about you.”

 

“Seriously?” I burst out, and Prim nods in confirmation. “He shouldn’t be telling you these things,” I add angrily.

 

“He just…he’s worried that you’re pulling away. He says you hardly ever call him anymore,” she says quickly.

 

I’m really embarrassed that my sister knows this much about my relationship. Peeta’s never even told _me_ these things. I feel my temper rising, but I fight to keep it under control. “Prim, that’s between me and Peeta.”

 

“He _really_ cares about you, Katniss,” Prim adds sincerely, worry etched across her face. “Just talk to him.”

 

I stare at my phone, where (most likely) at least one unanswered text from Peeta awaits me. I know there’s truth in what Prim’s telling me, but I can’t discuss it because I don’t want her to try to solve my problems and I don’t want to admit  that I have no real solutions either.

 

I fold my hands in my lap and examine them intently.

 

“Don’t get mad at Peeta for talking to me, Katniss, please,” she pleads.

 

I still don’t have a response for her, and she eventually gives up and turns back to the TV.

 

Finally I speak up. “Prim…I just can’t talk about this right now. It’s too hard.” I turn away from her for a moment to gather my thoughts before continuing. “You can tell Peeta that I still care about him.”

 

“Why don’t _you_ tell him?” she asks, turning to me suddenly.

 

“He knows how I feel,” I say, struggling to swallow a lump in my throat.

 

But honestly, I wonder if he does, given that he’s confiding in Prim and not me. I don’t know what makes me angrier – the fact that he’s sharing these details with Prim, or the fact that he’s _not_ sharing them with me. I can guess why he won’t share with me – I tend to shut down any conversations that stray into “emotional” territory. I won’t – no, I _can’t_ – have those kinds of conversations over the phone.

 

I thought he didn’t even notice how I always steer our conversations back to safe topics, like the details of his work day, or plans for our next trip, or even the weather. But clearly he does. Still, I don’t know if I can give him what he wants. And if I can’t, what does that mean for us?

__________

 

So, I’m pretty sure something’s up as soon as Plutarch asks me to have lunch with him. And when I see that it’s just the two of us, I know I’m right.

 

We walk a few blocks from the office to an unpretentious, but still fairly expensive, restaurant. Plutarch said he was paying, so I really wasn’t expecting him to bring me here. He needs something from me, I’m sure of it.

 

We chit-chat about nothing in particular for a few minutes until the waiter takes our order. Plutarch orders multiple courses and wine, so I think we’re going to be here for awhile. He clears his throat and smiles at me. “Katniss,” he begins, “you remember your work with Capitol Consulting over the summer?”

 

Of course I do. I fight back a smile remembering how it brought Peeta and me together. “Yes, how’s that work been going?” Not long after I got back from that trip, they asked me to give the client to one of D12’s newer employees, so I haven’t been involved with them at all.

 

He groans. “Not well. Nothing against Glimmer, of course,” he adds quickly, mentioning the girl who’d taken over the client after me, “but they got a new CEO. His name is Snow and he is a terror.”

 

“How does that affect us?” I ask. “In all the time I’ve worked here, I’ve never had to deal directly with a CEO.”

 

“Well, Snow has his hands in everything,” he explains. “And poor Glimmer can barely keep up. He’s threatening to terminate our contract.”

 

“That’s…unfortunate,” I respond evenly. I can see where he’s probably going with this, and I’m not sure I want to get involved. Glimmer’s not exactly a pushover; she can be pretty cutthroat when she wants to be. But I can’t very well say no to what he’s about to ask – it’s important to me, for my career and my future with D12, that he knows he can rely on me.

 

“Katniss, let me be honest with you,” he says, folding his hands and looking me in the eye. “I need your help with this. This client just requires more hand-holding than Glimmer can give.”

 

By “hand-holding,” Plutarch basically means that they need someone willing to be on-call twenty-four hours a day to meet their every need. He doesn’t come right out and say it, but he doesn’t have to. It’s not the first time he’s asked me to do something similar.

 

“So what do you need from me, Plutarch?” I ask bluntly.

 

“I’d like you to meet with Glimmer and take over this client work immediately,” he says. “But it’s ultimately your choice. We just can’t afford to risk losing any clients in this economy.” Thanks for laying the guilt on extra-thick, Plutarch.

 

I sigh, feeling a bit annoyed, but I know I’m not going to tell him no. He clearly knows it too, given the way he’s concentrating on eating his soup, seemingly not at all worried about my response.

 

“Alright, I’ll do it,” I tell him.

 

Our entrees arrive and we both eat silently for a few minutes before Plutarch speaks up again. What he says definitely surprises me. “Katniss, I know we’ve asked a lot of you over the past year, and I hope you know I appreciate your dedication to D12. If you can save this contract, I’ll make it worth your while,” he says.

 

“Then I’ll do whatever it takes,” I reply sincerely. This is what I needed to hear right now. I’m not working _all_ the time, and giving up my personal life, out of the goodness of my heart – I’m obviously hoping to get something in return.

 

Plutarch looks pleased with this. “That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear. One detail that I haven’t yet mentioned – you’re going to Chicago at the beginning of December for _at least_ a week to work with them on straightening things out. Does that work for you?”

 

“Of course.” It doesn’t really matter whether it works for me or not, though – if this client is as important as Plutarch says, I need to rearrange my personal life and other work commitments to make it happen.

 

And I’m also kind of excited because this means I’ll have a week – or maybe more – to spend in Chicago. Possibly with Peeta. Our relationship seriously needs this. We need some time to be together, in the same place. I know I’ll be working, but I’ll spend any bit of free time I have with him.

 

He’s going to be so excited when I tell him.

 

Plutarch brings me back to reality with some discussion of more details about Snow, Glimmer, and what’s been happening with the contract over the past few months. Our lunch lasts over two hours (including dessert!) before we finally make our way back to the office in the mid-afternoon.

 

I practically float back to my desk. I’m feeling happier than I have in a long time. This news is exactly what I needed. Maybe things are finally starting to look up for Peeta and me.

__________

 

Plutarch has assured me that once I officially take over the Capitol Consulting contract from Glimmer, I won’t have time for much other work for at least a month or two. But thankfully, I still got to take this one last trip. I’ve been in Miami for most of the week, and truth be told, the work has been fairly routine and boring. But the real reason I’m excited to be here is that I get to see Rue.

 

Rue and I were roommates when I was a senior in college. She’s a few years younger than me, but we just clicked when we met in our History of Ragtime Music class that year. (Yes, neither of us was above taking easy classes to fill in some of our electives.) We kept in touch after I left to go to grad school, and even though we’ve never lived in the same city again, we try to meet up every so often.

 

Rue is in Miami working on her clinical psychology doctorate, and we’ve been planning to get together tonight ever since I found out about this trip way back in September. We weren’t necessarily planning on having her, uh… _interesting_ roommate Clove tagging along with us. Rue was too nice to _not_ invite Clove to come with us; she was just surprised when Clove actually agreed.

 

I’ve never met Clove before, but the girl scares me a little. She’s pretty talkative, but not exactly what you’d call sociable. She’s the kind of person that Prim and I jokingly call a “topper”: no matter what you say, she has a similar, much better/worse/more interesting story about the same thing happening in her own life. It’s like everything in her life is one big competition.

 

But even with the addition of Clove to our evening, I’ve been so happy to catch up with Rue that I don’t mind. We met up for drinks and dinner at an awesome Cuban place, and the three of us are now lingering over dessert. Okay, _two of us_ are lingering over dessert, and Clove looks a little annoyed. But she drove with Rue, so she’s stuck.

 

“Katniss! Please tell me that you let Prim keep the cat!” Rue giggles. I’ve been telling a story about how Prim (who really should’ve been a veterinarian) found and rescued this mangy yellow cat from the alley behind our house. All my college friends know that I don’t get along with animals, so Rue found the prospect of me cohabiting with a cat hilarious.

 

“God no!” I tell her. “I managed to give it away to a kid in the neighborhood…her mom wasn’t too happy with me, but they seem rich, so at least the cat’ll have a good home.”

 

“What did Prim do?”

 

“Well…Prim may have been led to believe that I’m allergic to cats,” I respond, raising my eyebrows and shrugging.

 

Clove rolls her eyes at our conversation and turns to Rue. “What time is it, anyway?”

 

“About ten-thirty,” Rue replies.

 

“Ten-thirty!” I exclaim, almost choking on my bite of tres leches cake. I fumble around in my purse until I find my phone. “Oh god,” I groan. Three texts and two voicemails from Peeta.  I was supposed to call him about an hour ago, but I completely lost track of time. Sighing, I drop my phone back into my purse.

 

“What is it?” Clove asks curiously.

 

I shake my head. “My boyfriend,” I explain. “I forgot to call him.”

 

She raises her eyebrows. “Call him then. Let him know that you’ll be back at your hotel _soon_ ,” she says, giving Rue a pointed look.

 

“It doesn’t matter, the damage is done. He gets a little…weird if I miss our phone dates.”

 

“What’s his problem? You’ll see him soon, right?” Clove asks. “You said you’re going home tomorrow.”

 

Rue jumps in and answers Clove. “They’re long-distance. Their phone dates are the only time they see each other.”

 

Clove snorts dismissively. “My boyfriend’s doing fieldwork in Madagascar right now, and I haven’t talked to him since _June_. I’m sure you two can survive,” she says sarcastically.

 

Rue and I share an exasperated look. “Maybe we should take you back to your hotel now, Katniss,” she suggests.

 

“I guess so,” I agree reluctantly. I’d really like to stay out longer, but I’ve ignored Peeta long enough. I hate that I have to make these kinds of choices though. He can be awfully, I don’t know…clingy sometimes.

 

Clove looks almost triumphant as the three of us stand and make our way out of the restaurant. Rue drives me back to my hotel, and Clove sits impatiently in the car as Rue and I say our goodbyes. I wave as the two of them drive away, and finally read the texts from Peeta on my phone. There are _four_ of them now.

 

“ _Are you still calling me tonight?_ ”

 

“ _Just tried calling you – no answer. Where are you?_ ”

 

“ _Can you give me a call back soon?_ ”

 

“ _Katniss, are you okay? I’m getting worried. Please call._ ”

 

I shake my head in disbelief. “Jesus, Peeta,” I mutter under my breath as I start typing a response.

 

“ _Call you in 5 minutes_ ,” I tell him. I hope he can wait that long.

 

I take the elevator to my room and quickly change into my pajamas. Settling on the bed, I make myself comfortable and call him. He picks up on the first ring. “Katniss?”

 

“Sorry, Peeta. I got back later than I expected,” I say.

 

“Couldn’t you have at least texted to let me know?” he asks, sounding exasperated. “I get worried knowing you’re traveling by yourself.”

 

“Oh, please,” I respond, rolling my eyes. “I travel by myself all the time – I know how to be careful. And tonight I was out with friends anyway. I wasn’t even by myself,” I explain.

 

“How was I supposed to know that?” he huffs. “You never tell me these things.”

 

“And you thought that texting and calling me _six times_ was going to magically make me appear?”

 

“I told you I was worried. There’s only so much I can do when you’re a thousand miles away,” Peeta replies angrily.

 

I close my eyes. This conversation has gone downhill fast – although I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting. After reading those text messages, I should’ve known Peeta wasn’t going to be in a good mood when I called. I need to try to defuse this.

 

“Can we both just calm down?” I ask.

 

Peeta’s silent for a few moments, but I think I can hear him taking some deep breaths. “Alright,” he finally agrees. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Me too,” I tell him. I decide to try to direct the conversation away from our argument, but as usual, I don’t exactly know what to say. “So…how are you doing?”  I ask lamely.

 

Peeta immediately senses what I’m trying to do and backtracks on me. “Katniss, can we talk about what just happened? Obviously I overreacted to you not contacting me, but we need to figure out how to handle these kinds of situations in the future.”

 

No, no, no, no, no. This is the last thing I want to talk about right now. It’s already after eleven o’clock and I have to be up at six tomorrow morning for work. I don’t even like to talk about this stuff when I’m well-rested, much less right before bed.

 

“Peeta…I’m just tired right now. I don’t really want to get into it. Can we save this for another time, please?” I ask wearily.

 

“We always save it for another time, Katniss,” Peeta replies. “I can’t remember the last time we actually came back to it, though.”

 

He’s right. I’ve gotten pretty good at putting off hard topics of conversation, and Peeta’s nature is to not push me on it. Our personalities mesh perfectly for avoiding these discussions.

 

“Just…not tonight,” I repeat softly.

 

He knows I won’t relent on this, so he gives up. “I miss you, Katniss…so much,” he says sadly.

 

“I miss you too,” I tell him. And I mean it. I’m just too exhausted to talk about anything else tonight. “I should really get to bed, Peeta. And you too – you have to get up even earlier than I do tomorrow.”

 

“I know. It’s worth it to hear your voice, though.”

 

I smile to myself. How can he always be so sweet? “We’ll talk again soon, okay?” I try to reassure him. “I’ll be back home tomorrow night.”

 

“Alright, I – ” he cuts himself off abruptly and I hear him sigh. “Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

“Goodnight Peeta.”

 

I know that I still haven’t told him that I’m coming to Chicago for a week in December. I couldn’t bring myself to say it just now, even though it might have reassured him to hear it. Really, December’s still over a month away, so I have time. I’d rather tell him when we’re both happy, rather than as a way to salvage an otherwise crappy conversation. I’m sure I’ll find a time to tell him soon.

__________

 

On a cold November morning like today, I’m so glad that my building has a gym. I usually like to go running outside, where I can look at the scenery, but I just haven’t adjusted to the cold yet. The treadmill is perfect for a day like this.

 

Stepping off the machine, I pull my headphones out of my ears and make my way to the water cooler. I’m staring blankly at CNN on one of the gym’s TVs as I drink my water, when I’m startled by a tapping on my shoulder. I look over my shoulder to find Seneca standing behind me with a smirk on his face.

 

“Hi Katniss,” he greets me.

 

I stare at him briefly, shocked that he’s even talking to me after our confrontation in the elevator a few weeks ago. I’d barely seen him since then, so I assumed he was avoiding me. From the creepy smile on his face, I guess I was wrong. I push past him without responding and walk toward the locker room.

 

He puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “You can’t ignore me forever – it’s too awkward, working in the same building and all.”

 

I push his hand off my shoulder and slowly turn around to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “You were a real jerk to me, Seneca. I don’t particularly want to talk to you. In fact, I’d be perfectly happy ignoring you forever.”

 

He takes a step closer to me. “I just want to be friends again, Katniss.”

 

“I don’t want or need any more friends,” I respond, looking him straight in the eye and making a point not to back away. I can tell he’s trying to intimidate me.

 

“Fine. How about a ‘hello’ in the elevator every now and then?” he persists.

 

Suddenly I’ve had about all I can take of his presence so close to me and I take a large step backwards. I nearly trip on some hand weights, but I manage to stay standing, pushing him away as he tries to help steady me. “Why does this matter to you so much?” I hiss at him.

 

He shrugs and smiles at me again. “Just think about it, okay?”

 

I glare at him. “You already know my answer, Seneca.” I turn and stalk toward the locker room before he can reply. Just as I’m about to enter, I whip around and call in his direction, “And please don’t talk to me ever again.” Unfortunately, it appears I said that last part to an empty room – Seneca’s nowhere to be seen. I huff in frustration and head into the nearest open shower.

 

I just hope he got the message.

__________

 

“Let’s get some lunch, Everdeen,” Johanna says, grabbing my arm as we file out of the staff meeting. Sounds like a good idea to me. After my run-in with Seneca this morning, I need to get out of the building for awhile.

 

“Sure, where to?”

 

Johanna looks at her watch and sighs. “I don’t have a ton of time, so how about some sandwiches?” she suggests.

 

We each return to our offices to grab our jackets and purses, and we meet by the elevators. As I walk through the door, I see Johanna leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. This isn’t like her at all – she’s usually a ball of nervous energy.

 

“What’s up, Jo?” I ask her carefully. “You look…kind of tired.”

 

She opens her eyes and scowls at me. “Thanks for that. Just what I wanted to hear right now.”

 

I look at the floor and shuffle over to press the down button on the escalator. Eventually Johanna speaks up again.

 

“It’s my mom. She’s getting worse – _again_ – and my idiot sisters are practically begging me to come back home.” She pauses, shaking her head with a look of disgust on her face. “There’s no way Plutarch’s going to let me get away with that again.”

 

“So, what are you going to do?” I ask as we step into the elevator. Thankfully it’s empty.

 

She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, tapping her foot rapidly. “I haven’t completely decided,” she admits. “I want to ask Plutarch if I can just telework from Minnesota for the foreseeable future. There’s no reason why I can’t. None of us really need to be here in DC to do our jobs.” It sounds like she’s been thinking over this reasoning in her head for awhile. And she’s absolutely right too – with a computer and a good internet connection, we could do our jobs from anywhere.

 

“That’s a great idea, Jo,” I tell her. “Do you think he’ll go for it?”

 

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Doubt it. But I have to ask. I can’t afford to take another unpaid leave, but god knows there aren’t any jobs in this business in rural Minnesota.”

 

“Let me know if I can help, okay?” I say.

 

She shakes her head as we get off the elevator in the lobby. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now.” We push open the front doors to our building and head out onto the sidewalk. As usual for this time of day, there are a lot of people outside heading to get lunch. We’ll definitely be waiting in line, wherever we end up.

 

“Let’s walk over to the square and see which food trucks are around today,” I suggest.

 

As we walk, Johanna turns to me suddenly. “Have you broken up with Peeta yet?”

 

I can barely control the horrified look that crosses my face. “What makes you think we’re breaking up?”

 

She shrugs. “Just seems like the natural progression of a long-distance relationship.”

 

“Well, actually, we’re still together, and I’m still trying to avoid talking about him,” I remind her.

 

“That doesn’t work with me, Kat.”

 

I’m quiet for a few moments as we look around at the food trucks on the square today. After we choose one that doesn’t have a long line, I speak up. “I haven’t seen him for almost a month. It’s hard…and he’s been getting kind of clingy. Like calling and texting _a ton_ ,” I explain.

 

“I couldn’t handle that,” Jo responds as she peruses the menu on the side of the truck. “I don’t know why you’re still with him.”

 

We both place our orders, then stand off to the side to wait. I stuff my hands into my pockets, wishing I had remembered my gloves this morning. I didn’t expect to be standing outside today.

 

“Well…when we’re together, everything’s great,” I say.

 

“But it seems like you’re hardly ever together,” Jo retorts, shivering slightly as a breeze hits us. “If you insist on staying with him, why don’t you try to see him more?”

 

“It’s complicated. I don’t know,” I answer her.

 

When our food comes, we both decide it’s too cold to eat outside, so we take it back to the office. As we make our way through the crowd in the square, I think about what she just said.

 

Why _don’t_ Peeta and I try to see each other more? There are many reasons, like the distance, the cost of plane tickets, the fact that I pretty much refused to travel more than he does…and these are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

 

I don’t even know if he _wants_ to see me more than we already do. I don’t know what sort of life he leads at home, when I’m not around. It certainly doesn’t seem like he really _needs_ me. If anything, he’s just obsessively interested in where I am, what I’m doing, and with whom.

 

But I know that what I’m thinking isn’t really fair to Peeta. I’m making tons of assumptions about him, basically because I’m too scared to ask him questions and apparently incapable of having a serious conversation with him on the phone.

 

I can barely remember the last normal, non-stressful interaction we’ve had. It feels like our relationship is falling apart around me, and...it scares me. I want to stop it, and I need to see him again. This can’t wait until December.

 

I leave Johanna and take my food to my office, practically running. Turning on the computer, I immediately start searching for plane tickets.

 

I’m going to Chicago as soon as I possibly can.

__________

 

Later that night, I decide that it’s time to tell Peeta about my plans. I nervously bite my lip as I dial him. He’s going to be surprised to hear from me, but also happy, I hope. Especially since he thinks I never call him.

 

I furrow my brow when he doesn’t pick right away, like he usually does. For once, I was actually calling someone and hoping they would answer the phone. I really don’t want to leave a message and then wait around for him to call me back.

 

“Katniss?” Thank god, he actually picked up. But he sounds a bit out of breath, and I wonder if I caught him at a bad time.

 

“Hey you!” I tell him, trying to sound happy rather than letting my nervousness show. “Are you busy? Should I call back later?”

 

“No!” he exclaims. “I just wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight.”

 

“Um…you sound like you were in the middle of something,” I say hesitantly. “Are you _sure_ this is a good time?”

 

“Katniss, there’s nothing I’d rather do than talk to you,” he replies. “I heard the phone ringing, but I couldn’t remember where I left it. I was running around trying to find it,” he admits.

 

I take a deep breath and jump right into what I was planning to say. “I want to see you, Peeta. It’s been too long.”

 

“Okay…” he says slowly, clearly unsure of what I’m getting at.

 

“Can I come visit this weekend?” I ask.

 

“This weekend – like three days from now?” he asks in disbelief.

 

“Yeah, I was just looking for plane tickets today.”

 

“Yes, you can come!” he says, laughing. “You don’t even need to ask.” He falls silent for a moment. “There’s just one thing…”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Uh…do you mind coming to my aunt’s house for her pre-Thanksgiving party? There’s no way I can get out of it,” Peeta asks apologetically. He’s kept me away from his family so far, knowing that they’ll probably overwhelm me. But from what he tells me, they want to meet me. That fact makes me even more nervous to meet them, of course.

 

“I don’t mind at all,” I lie, hoping that I’m succeeding in sounding confident. I actually really just want to see Peeta this weekend. Meeting the Mellarks was probably going to happen eventually, though.

 

“You sound nervous,” he tells me.

 

“I’m not!”

 

“I don’t believe you,” he laughs. “But seriously, thank you for this. It means a lot. I think we need some time together.”

 

“We do,” I agree. “Um, I’m also coming out for work in December. For a whole week this time. I don’t know how busy I’ll be, but I’m hoping we can spend some more time together then,” I say shyly.

 

“I’ll take whatever time you have, Katniss,” he responds sincerely. “Can you believe that we’ve never spent an entire week together? It’s such a strange position to be in.”

 

“I know,” I tell him. But suddenly, now that I’ve told him all my news, I’m finding myself unsure of what to say next. Thankfully Peeta speaks up.

 

“Um…do you think that we can finally talk this weekend? Like, really talk about all this crap going on in our relationship?” he asks hesitantly. “I know you don’t want to, but – ”

 

“No, you’re right, Peeta,” I sigh. “We’ll talk this time, I promise.”

 

“I just haven’t been sure recently…” he trails off for a moment, as if he’s figuring out what to say next. “If you really want to keep doing this.”

 

“You mean, us?” I ask quietly. I can feel tears gathering in the back of my eyes, and I try to blink them away.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers hoarsely.

 

“I do, I really do,” I choke out, trying not to lose control of myself. “Do you?”

 

“Yes!” he bursts out, a little too loudly. “Yes, I know I do. I think I’m…I really feel strongly about us, Katniss,” he finishes.

 

I don’t speak for a few moments, letting some tears escape from my eyes. I’m glad he can’t see me, although I’m sure he can tell I’m crying. Wiping my face with the back of my hands, I finally feel able to talk again. “Things will be better when we see each other. I want to keep trying.”

 

“Me too. I – ” His voice breaks and I hear him take some deep breaths before he continues. “Sorry Katniss, I don’t usually get like this. Promise me we’ll work things out this weekend?”

 

“I promise,” I tell him without hesitation. Hearing his sadness strengthens my confidence – I have to reassure him and make this better. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? Trust me.”

 

“I do. I’ll see you in three days.”

 

“That’s right, Peeta,” I assure him. “Three days.”

 


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks sunfishdunes for the awesome beta work. Please go read her story, Reprieve.

Somehow, even after everything we’ve been through, it always feels like I’m home again when I’m in Peeta’s arms. There’s just no other way to describe it.

 

I arrived in Chicago late last night, and Peeta and I have been holed up in his apartment ever since. I wish I could just stay right here, holding him and not saying a word for the entire weekend. Maybe forever. When we’re like this, I can forget everything else I’ve been feeling.

 

Since I arrived, we’ve honestly both been pretty quiet. That’s typical for me of course, but Peeta’s never without words. It’s as if we’re both so relieved to finally be back in each other’s presence that neither of us wants to ruin it by saying something. So far, we’ve both alluded to our problems when necessary, but we haven’t exactly had what you would call “the talk.”

 

I’m hoping that just making it clear to Peeta that I’m _willing_ to talk will be enough. Because even after all my promises – and I meant every word I said when I said them – I don’t feel ready for any heavy conversations about our relationship, our future, or our issues. I thought I would be, but now that I’m here and Peeta’s right in front of me, I can’t find any words. I want to keep words out of this.

 

Suddenly I feel Peeta shift beside me in bed. He rolls toward me and drapes an arm over my waist. “Katniss?” he says softly near my ear.

 

I wonder how long I’ve been lying here, staring at the ceiling and lost in my own thoughts. “Hmm?” I mumble in response.

 

“What are you thinking about? You’re so quiet.” He scoots even closer to me, resting his chin on my shoulder and burying his face in my hair.

 

“Nothing. Just…that I forgot to tell Prim I made it here okay,” I lie. He can probably see right through me, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

 

“I texted her last night,” Peeta murmurs sleepily.

 

“Oh…thanks.”

 

My eyes are closed but I feel Peeta roll onto his back, withdrawing his arm from where it was laying on my stomach. I miss his touch almost immediately and find myself reaching out for him, trying to cocoon myself in his warmth and shut out all my other thoughts again. But Peeta soon breaks the silence.

 

“I’m glad you came,” he tells me. “Are you?”

 

Sighing, I rest my head on his bare chest. “Of course,” I answer quickly, without thinking. After a moment, I raise my head and look into his eyes. “Did you think I wasn’t?”

Peeta shrugs and places his hand on the back of my head, pulling me back down onto his chest.  “I just wanted to make sure.”

 

I lie silently for a few moments, feeling Peeta breathing slowly in and out. I know Peeta well enough to be sure that he wants to say more to me, but he’s reverted to doing what he always does – trying not to pressure me or move faster than he thinks I want. Is there anything I can say to him that will reassure him but not force us into some hours-long rehashing of our relationship difficulties?

 

“I definitely needed to see you face-to-face,” I begin carefully. “I get so nervous on the phone. I never know what to say.”

 

“You don’t have to impress me, Katniss,” Peeta says as he slowly threads his fingers through my hair. “I wish you wouldn’t let it worry you so much.”

 

“It’s easier for you – you can talk to anyone.”

 

“But you’re just talking to _me_ ,” Peeta reminds me. “Not some stranger. You don’t have any trouble talking to me when we’re together.”

 

I didn’t expect him to understand. But I don’t want him to try to convince me that it’s easy, either. It _isn’t_ – not for me. I’m more comfortable with doing things—showing people what I mean—versus saying things. But over the phone, I’m completely reliant on my often-inadequate words.

 

Normally this would be the point in our conversation when I tell him that I don’t want to talk anymore, that we can discuss it later. But I think I’ve already played all my “putting it off” cards. I grit my teeth and try to figure out how to explain something that won’t make any sense to him.

 

“I don’t feel as much pressure when we’re together,” I say. “I could sit next to you for an hour without saying a word, and it wouldn’t matter. On the phone, every pause is…” I trail off, struggling for the right word, “awkward?”

 

Peeta shakes his head. “Those things just don’t bother me…even if you’re not saying anything, talking to you makes me feel like we’re together.”

 

I laugh softly. “It just makes me feel nervous.”

 

Peeta wraps his arms around me and softly kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes and try to memorize how it feels to be with him like this. As hard as I try not to think about him when we’re apart, I find myself calling up memories of times like this every single day. I haven’t decided yet whether that’s good or bad.

 

“Please don’t be nervous, Katniss. It’s me. Just me.” I feel Peeta shift toward the edge of the bed and let out a soft groan. “It’s four o’clock,” he says glumly.

 

“That late?” I say, struggling to sit up.

 

Peeta looks up at me and nods. “We’ve got to be at my aunt’s house in about an hour.”

 

I gulp nervously hearing this. Besides having a serious relationship talk with Peeta, this is the other part of the weekend that I’m dreading. Meeting the Mellarks. Since Peeta told me about this party, I’ve laid awake every night imagining what it’s going to be like. Just thinking about how out-of-place I’m going to be is nerve-wracking.

 

I must not be doing a good job of hiding my emotions right now, because Peeta sits up and pulls me into a hug. “They’re going to love you,” he whispers.

 

I hide my face in his chest without responding. He reaches for my chin and lifts my face to his, planting a lingering kiss on my mouth. “You ready?” he asks as he pulls back to look into my eyes.

 

I nod. Moving toward the edge of the bed, I stand up and stretch. I give Peeta the brightest smile I can muster and tell him honestly, “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

__________

 

I can already tell this is going to be my personal nightmare.

 

Peeta’s Aunt Ewa lives in a modest, two-story brick house in a suburb not far from Peeta’s neighborhood, but there must be at least 100 people crammed in it. Are these people all related to Peeta? They’re so… _loud_. Looking around me, I don’t think I see a single person _not_ talking.

 

I cling to Peeta’s hand for dear life as we wind our way through the crowd. Peeta stops when we reach the kitchen. “Aunt Ewa? Delly?” he calls.

 

Suddenly a plump, frazzled-looking woman who resembles Peeta’s father pushes her way into the kitchen. “Peeta!” she says, relief evident in her voice. “You’re here just in time! Can you take care of that?” she asks, pointing at the stove where a pot of what looks to be a stew is bubbling furiously.

 

She starts to leave the room before she abruptly turns back toward me. “Wait – is this Katniss?” She rushes to me and kisses me on the cheek. Pulling back, she grabs my shoulder while patting my face with her other hand. I stiffen up, unsure of how to react as she starts addressing Peeta. “She’s _adorable_. What a catch!” Turning back to me, she smiles regretfully and says, “I wish we could chat, but as you can see, things are crazy around here! I’ll make it up to you next time you visit.” Then she runs out of the room before I can even say a word.

 

Peeta’s taken a spot in front of the stove and is deep in conversation with a young teenage girl who I’ve obviously never seen before. I start to make my way back to him when I’m intercepted in another hug from a person I’ve never seen. I guess I better get used to this, for tonight at least. I awkwardly return her hug. All I can see is a mess of long blonde curls until she finally lets me go. With a huge smile covering her face, she looks happier to see me than is really plausible, given that we don’t even know each other.

 

“Katniss!” she gushes. Okay, maybe _she_ knows _me_. “I’m Delly, Peeta’s cousin. Well, we’re actually second cousins, but that’s not important. My mom told me where to find you – she said I was going to love you! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” With that, she hugs me again and steers me away from Peeta. I give a panicked glance over my shoulder, but Peeta’s disappeared. Who knows when I’ll manage to find him again in this madhouse?

 

Delly doesn’t seem like she’s waiting for a response from me, but I feel like I should say something. “Nice to meet you, too,” I say to the back of her head as she drags me by the hand through the dining room and down a flight of stairs. Good lord – there are probably another 50 people down here.

 

“ _Everyone_ has been wanting to meet you,” she tells me seriously. “Peeta talks about you non-stop! I’m going to make sure you meet everybody.” I look around nervously. _Everybody_?

 

“Um…okay,” I manage to stammer out.

 

Delly stops in the middle of the room and looks around. Grabbing the arm of a man walking by, she asks, “Where’s Grandpa?”

 

“Your sister just took him to sit down,” he says, pointing toward the back of the room. As he walks away, he pats me on the back, adding, “Nice to see you, Katniss.”

 

“Thanks!” Delly tells him cheerfully. “That’s Mark, another cousin,” she explains. I can’t even begin to fathom how many “cousins” there must be here tonight. I wish I was with Peeta right now, but I guess I’m glad that Delly’s showing me around at least. I don’t know what I’d do if I was left to fend for myself in this crowd. Probably go find a closet to hide in.

 

“Grandpa’s been dying to meet you. But he can’t hear very well, so I wanted to make sure to introduce you before everyone gets here and it gets really loud,” Delly informs me. My eyes widen in shock. This isn’t everyone? Where is everyone else going to go? I find myself starting to fantasize about a neighbor calling in a noise complaint and the police arriving to break this party up. They have to be violating some kind of fire code, right?

 

Delly and I push our way to the back of the room, where an elderly man is resting on a small sofa with a dark-haired Delly clone. “Scoot over, Nini,” she tells the young woman, who I’m guessing is her sister. Delly pushes me forward and wedges me into the tiny space between her sister and her grandpa. Leaning down and speaking directly into his ear, she says loudly, “Grandpa! This is Katniss.”

 

He turns to me with a look of delight and grabs one of my hands in both of his. “Peeta’s Catnip?” he asks, looking up at Delly. She nods in response. Whispering in my ear, she adds, “He thinks your name’s Catnip. We’ve given up correcting him.” I smile as she straightens herself to stand. It’s not the first time someone’s made that mistake.

 

Delly suddenly leans back down to me again. “Oh, and he wants you to call him Grandpa. That’s what we all call him. He’s not even my Grandpa,” she explains.

 

That seems awfully…familiar, given that I’m not even a member of the family, but I’m guessing I don’t have a choice. I clear my throat and lean forward slightly. “Uh…happy to meet you…Grandpa.” I’ve never called anyone “grandpa” before, so it feels strange and foreign to me. 

 

Grandpa pats me fondly on the knee. “We’re so happy you’re here. Peeta’s just not the same when you’re away.” I notice Delly nodding in agreement. 

 

“We’ll just have to get her to visit more, won’t we, Grandpa?” she says, winking at me. Leaning back down to his ear, Delly continues, “We have to go now. Katniss has a lot more people to meet!”

 

Grandpa pulls me to him, giving me a quick squeeze before he sends me off with Delly. I blindly follow her through the crowd of Mellarks, lost in my own thoughts. What did they mean by saying that Peeta’s “not the same” when I’m not here? I’ve certainly never noticed anything…but then again, how would I?

 

I spend the next hour (at least) being pulled by Delly through the crowd downstairs, then the crowd upstairs, and then through a crowd hanging out in the backyard, which seems crazy since it’s _November_ and we’re in _Chicago_. Somehow, I never cross paths with Peeta the entire time.

 

Delly introduces me to at least a hundred people, all of whom seem to know my name and sometimes other details about me as well. It’s creepy. And I feel bad because I know I won’t remember anyone’s names tomorrow. Oh, who am I kidding? If they walk up to me _later tonight_ I won’t remember their names either. I feel so shell-shocked and unprepared that I barely say ten words – other than “nice to meet you” – the whole time. They probably all find me extremely boring.

 

For the past ten minutes, Delly and I have been trapped in a corner listening to two guys (their names are already long gone, but I remember that Delly called them both “uncles”) lecture us about which team is going to win the NFC North this year. Delly is arguing right along with them, but I’m ever so slowly inching my way toward the front door, which is just a few feet away from me. _So close_. Just as I’ve almost slipped out of sight, I nearly jump out of my skin when a pair of hands lands on my shoulders.

 

“Katniss,” says the low voice near my ear, “you look like you need a break!”

 

I crane my head backwards – it’s not Peeta, but I still sigh in relief when I see that it’s his brother Ryan. “Yes, please!” I whisper, not even trying to hide my desperation.

 

Ryan slings his arm around my shoulders and yells in Delly’s direction. “We’re taking Katniss for now, Del.” She attempts to protest, saying something about me needing to meet some more nieces and nephews, but Ryan just laughs and moves me out of range.

 

“Peeta told me to find you. He’s been caught up with the food,” Ryan apologizes.

 

“You guys should’ve warned me about what I was getting into. Hell, a few ‘Hello My Name Is’ stickers might have helped. Your entire family probably thinks I’m some kind of idiot,” I grumble.

 

Ryan steers me back downstairs, where his fiancée Lydia has managed to steal three chairs for us. She laughs when she sees the look on my face. “Was it _that bad_?” she asks.

 

“Every bit,” I mutter, nearly tripping over some running toddlers before I stumble into a seat. “I’ll never get used to this,” I sigh.

 

“You will,” Lydia says reassuringly, patting my thigh.

 

“Lydia doesn’t like these things either,” Ryan says, throwing his arm around his fiancée’s shoulders. “She just puts up with them.”

 

“Because he gives me no choice,” Lydia says jokingly, poking Ryan in the side.

 

“Really?” I ask skeptically. “This doesn’t seem to bother you. How do you deal?”

 

“I dream of the day we move far, far away,” she says, raising her eyebrows as she looks at Ryan. He rolls his eyes at her and she laughs. Turning back to me, she continues, “But seriously, you’ll fit in here just fine. Not every Mellark likes to yell and touch and ask inappropriate personal questions all the time.”

 

“Only, like, 95% of them,” Ryan cuts in.

 

Lydia shoves him playfully. “Stop scaring her! Peeta will _kill_ you if you run her off. Listen Katniss, here’s the thing: you just hear the loud, crazy ones. There are people – _like me_ – who just stake out a quiet corner and chat and ignore them all.”

 

I really want to believe her, but I just can’t. I’ve been around Lydia enough to know that she doesn’t seem all that different from most of the Mellarks. She’s outgoing and pretty and funny and everything that I would imagine Peeta should have in a girlfriend. She doesn’t seem lost here at all, which is how I’m feeling right now.

 

Suddenly I’m ripped away from these thoughts when I feel a kiss on the top of my head. I cringe and move away instinctively – I’ve been kissed by too many strangers tonight already – but then I turn around and see that it’s Peeta. Oh thank god. _Finally_.

 

I stand up and push Peeta into my seat, settling myself in his lap. I cling to him for dear life – I’m not letting him out of my sight again this evening. He laughs and wraps his arms loosely around my waist. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly into my ear.

 

I debate internally how to answer this. And even though I’m sure Ryan and Lydia will tell him about our conversation, I decide it’s best not to be completely honest right now. “Um…I’m…good,” I say, using the most convincing tone as I can muster.

 

He settles his chin on my shoulder and moves the hair away from my face. “Meeting everyone?”

 

That’s the understatement of the evening. “Yeah, I met…people,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t press me for details.

 

“Everyone loves you, you know,” he whispers, trying to coax a smile out of me. I oblige him, but I _know_ he’s not telling the truth. He doesn’t need to say these things to make me feel better. I never had any expectation of fitting in with the Mellarks, and tonight has just made me even more sure of that.

 

Various Mellark relatives – some of whom I’ve met, and many I haven’t – drift through the room and stop to talk to Peeta, Ryan, and Lydia for the rest of the evening. I notice how easily they interact with each other and how close they all seem to be. I, on the other hand, barely speak unless someone asks me a direct question. I feel comfortable here in Peeta’s lap, but at the same time, I just want to bury my head in his neck and ignore the world.

 

And no matter what I do, no matter what Peeta says, I just can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong here.

__________

 

It’s hard to get myself moving this morning; it’s always hard after I get back home from seeing Peeta. I slump down in my chair at the dining table, absently dipping my spoon into my cereal bowl.

 

Suddenly I hear Prim bounding down the stairs behind me. I groan to myself – she’s probably going to have a million questions. As usual. My only excuse this morning is that I’ve got to leave for work in thirty minutes. If she’d been home when I got here late last night, she would’ve kept me up interrogating me. It’s times like that when I appreciate her schedule at the hospital.

 

I sit up straighter and try to look serious about eating my breakfast. I know what Prim will do if she thinks I’m wallowing. She runs into the room and flops down in the chair next to me, grinning. “So…how was your trip?”

 

I shrug. “It was fine.”

 

She leans toward me with a gleam in her eye. “Peeta said his family _loved_ you!” she squeals. “You see, you didn’t have anything to worry about.”

 

I roll my eyes. Prim knew I was nervous about finally meeting Peeta’s family – in a moment of weakness, I unloaded on her before my trip. She was sure I was making a big deal out of nothing. But that’s just because she gets along with everyone. 

 

And I don’t know why Peeta’s trying so hard to convince me that his family liked me. I bet he told Prim to tell me that. Honestly, I’ve rarely felt more out-of-place than I did at that party. What could his family have possibly seen in me? I’m not completely blind to my own imperfections – I know I wasn’t exactly a charmer that evening.

 

“Peeta told me that too,” I admit. “I don’t believe it.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you believe him?” Prim asks incredulously. “Seriously, is your opinion of him that low?”

 

My spoon clatters in my bowl as I finish my cereal. “No! He’s just saying those things to be nice – probably to make me feel better. I’m _nothing_ like his family,” I say vehemently.

 

Prim narrows her eyes at me in confusion. “Why does it matter if you’re just like his family, or not at all? Maybe that doesn’t matter to him.”

 

“I’m not explaining myself very well,” I say, struggling to think of the right words. Why exactly did I think it was so important that I’m not like his family? “They’re all…talkative and funny…and loud. And they all know each other so well…” I find myself trailing off. There’s no argument here. I’m not even convincing myself as I say it.

 

Prim is completely silent throughout my response, shaking her head at me with her mouth hanging open. Finally, when she can tell I don’t have anything more to add, she speaks up. “Katniss, you are _looking_ for problems. You and I are different – that doesn’t mean we don’t get along.”

 

“But we’re sisters,” I retort. “I don’t fit in with the Mellarks. Peeta couldn’t be happy with someone who doesn’t fit in with his family.” I just completely made up that last part. Peeta’s never given my any reason to believe that, but it sounds…plausible. It makes sense to me, anyway.

 

“Have you ever told Peeta you feel that way?” she asks.

 

“Directly? No,” I admit. “But he can tell. That’s why he’s trying so hard to convince me that his family likes me.”

 

Prim gives me a pointed look. “Now you’re not making any sense. If Peeta couldn’t be happy with you, why would he _lie to you_ to convince you his family likes you?”

 

I bury my face in my hands, trying to figure out what to say. Eventually I give up on making any sort of coherent argument. “I’m just trying to be realistic, Prim. Sooner or later Peeta’s probably going to realize that he and I don’t work together.”

 

“Is that what this is?” she asks quietly. “You’re worried he’s going to leave you or something?”

 

I bite my lip and look away, refusing to answer. I’m not even sure I know the answer.

 

Prim continues a bit angrily. “I’ve just got to say this one thing, Katniss, then I’m leaving it alone. You and Peeta – _both of you_ – suck at communicating. If you want anything long-term together, you need to talk and figure things out. And I’m going to tell _him_ this too,” she says, pointing at me.

 

“I’ve got to get ready to go to work, Prim,” I mutter as I escape from the room and her accusing glare.

 

So, yeah, basically Prim is right. I’ve been focusing a lot on my unwillingness to have difficult discussions with Peeta – we never did have our “talk” last weekend – but I guess he could initiate them too. And he doesn’t, not anymore than I do. I wonder why not?

 

Prim also scared me a little by bringing up the words “long-term” in the context of my relationship with Peeta. I try not to think of much beyond the present, because I don’t know that we can resolve our issues enough to work out something that could last in the long-term. There are so many uncertainties and unknowns that I can’t bear to think about it. I haven’t wanted to change anything for fear of creating new problems.

 

But now I’m starting to suspect that we’re just…stuck.

__________

 

“Everdeen, you ready to go?” Jo asks, poking her head into my office. “I’m _so_ over this week.”

 

“Just one minute,” I tell her as I shut off my computer and grab my coat.

 

It’s five o’clock on Friday night, but this is no ordinary Friday. We’re off to a work holiday party, which is something I’m not particularly enthusiastic about attending. But I know that Johanna looks forward to this particular work event every year, mostly because it involves free alcohol. She’s never been at all bothered by the idea of getting drunk in front of her co-workers, which I guess works out for her because it’s never caused her any problems in the office later. Honestly, most of the people here are too scared of her to say anything even if she did make a fool of herself.

 

This party actually isn’t strictly our D12 co-workers, which makes me a little more willing to go get drunk with Johanna. The management company that owns our office building throws this party every year sometime around Thanksgiving for all the tenants. So there are always a lot of other people around, and we usually purposely avoid our colleagues as much as we can. And even though there’s food – and pretty decent food, too – the reason everyone shows up is the open bar.

 

The management company has rented out an entire nearby restaurant for tonight’s party. Johanna and I run down the block and quickly duck inside, checking our coats with the hostess. Johanna immediately makes a beeline for the bar, but I grab her arm, pointing toward the waiters circling the room with hors d’oeuvres. “Don’t you want to eat something first?” I ask her as I quickly reach for a mini crab cake.

 

She turns to look at me like I have two heads. “No. I’m here for one reason, and it’s over there,” she says, gesturing toward the bar in the back of the restaurant. I attempt to protest, but she drags me wordlessly to the bar and claims the last two seats.

 

Over the next hour or so, Johanna consumes a disturbing amount of alcohol yet barely seems to be affected by it. I, on the other hand, am feeling fairly tipsy even though I made myself stick to wine. Unfortunately, I didn’t police the _amount_ of wine I drank. I’m trying desperately to get some food in my stomach, but these tiny little appetizer-sized bites are no match for the alcohol. I’ve been looking around nervously all night long, but I haven’t seen many of our co-workers. And whenever I do see someone I know, I try my best to hide.

 

Johanna and I have been avoiding talking about anything serious for the entire evening. Neither of us wants to get into that tonight – we’re not here to drunkenly solve each other’s problems. So before we got here, when we were both fully sober, we made each other promise: no talk of Jo’s mom, and no talk of Peeta. And somehow, we’ve actually stuck to that. We’ve just mostly been gossiping about our co-workers…which is another reason I’ve been keeping my eyes open for them all night long.

 

In the middle of telling me a story about her recent business trip to the Virgin Islands (why don’t I ever get clients on tropical islands?), she cuts herself off and abruptly pulls her cell phone out of her pocket. “Damn,” she mutters. Glancing up at me with a frown, she sighs, “I’ve got to take this. It’s my sister.” And with that, she jogs toward the front of the restaurant and I lose sight of her in the crowd.

 

Now that I’m alone, I decide to back off the alcohol for awhile. I stop a waiter who’s making rounds with some food and take the last five bruschetta from his tray. He gives me a confused look. “Sorry,” I giggle. Oh god – I’m giggly. This is never a good sign.

 

I’m stuffing my face with bruschetta and drinking water when someone slides into Johanna’s seat next to me. “Um…” I start, covering my mouth with my hand and trying to chew and swallow as quickly as I can. “That seat’s taken.”

 

And at that moment, I look up and notice who’s taken the seat. My face falls; I realize that it was no accident. _Seneca_.

 

I immediately put my food back on the bar and start to get up. I can’t think of anything else to do except to leave. Unfortunately, I’m a little more tipsy than I realized and I get dizzy from trying to stand so abruptly. I sink back down into my seat and Seneca seems to take this as an invitation.

 

“Katniss, can we talk?” he asks, reaching out and grabbing one of my hands.

 

I jerk it away from him. I can’t even tell by looking at him if he’s drunk or if this is just how creepy he naturally is. “No! What could we possibly have to talk about?”

 

He gives me a look – I think he means for it to be seductive, but it just ends up horrifying me. Given my somewhat inebriated state, I’m sure he can see the disgust on my face. But maybe not, because he soon continues, “This. Us,” he says, gesturing between the two of us. “There’s got to be some reason we keep running into each other.”

 

Because we both work in the same building, maybe? My brain is working too slowly for these words to make it to my mouth, though. I try _again_ to leave but end up stumbling slightly toward him as my foot catches on the bottom of my chair. He grabs me by the shoulders and crashes his lips down on mine.

 

The potent smell of his cologne clashes with the strong taste of alcohol on his mouth, and I start to feel nauseated. He’s got to be drunk – why else would he be doing this? I’m frozen in place, recoiling internally against the slimy feeling of his lips against my own, when suddenly I feel his tongue dart out and attempt to push its way into my mouth. That finally wakes me up out of my stupor. I don’t know exactly how long I had let him kiss me, but I gather enough strength to push him off of me roughly. I run to the front of the restaurant, stopping only long enough to claim my coat, before I head out into the cold night.

 

Looking back and forth, I don’t see Jo anywhere, so I opt to send her a quick text as I head to the Metro to go home. I can’t stay here one second longer.

 

I move as quickly as I can down the stairs to the train platform. Looking up at the arrival board, I groan as I see that another train isn’t coming for twenty minutes. I must’ve just missed one since the platform is completely empty. It’s eerily quiet down here. Sinking onto a bench, I try to calm myself.

 

I can’t believe that happened. I can’t believe that Seneca would do that. Thinking over my most recent interactions with him, I can’t think of anything I did that was ambiguous or could have led him to think I had feelings for him.

 

I’m mad at myself too. This is _another_ reason why I should never have even considered drinking with Jo tonight. I made myself too vulnerable and ended up practically making out with Seneca in front of hundreds of people. Yes, what he did was wrong, but…I could’ve been in control of the situation. I _should’ve_ been in control. What’s happened to me? I’m _always_ in control!

 

I didn’t even stop the kiss right away. What does that mean?

 

I start to tear up thinking about Peeta. How am I going to tell him? What will he think of me? Do I even have to tell him? Part of me understands that I didn’t do anything wrong, that this was entirely Seneca. And what’s one kiss? Peeta doesn’t even have to know. It’s maybe the first positive thing I’ve thought about him living hundreds of miles away from me. I can go back home, sober up, and forget about this without Peeta ever being aware.

 

As the train finally pulls into the station, I make a decision – to do nothing. I need to go home, eat, sleep, and see how I feel about things tomorrow.

__________

 

I’ve waited not just one day, but two, and I still can’t shake this feeling of guilt. Like I’ve betrayed Peeta somehow. I need to tell him what happened because these feelings are going to eat me alive if I don’t. But as always, I’m having trouble getting the nerve. I’ve been staring at the phone on my nightstand for at least fifteen minutes now.

 

Finally, I just grab my phone and call him before I can argue with myself anymore. I’ve been avoiding talking to him for too long – I owe him this, at the very least.

 

“Katniss?” Peeta greets me. As always, he sounds happy to hear my voice, as if I’ve just brightened his entire day. I immediately burst into tears thinking of what I have to tell him. I’m sure his mood won’t be so upbeat for long.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, alarm evident in his voice. “Are you okay?”

 

I am so far from okay right now. But how do I get the words out to tell him why I called? In a way, I feel silly. It seems so…I don’t know… _high school_ to be calling to tell him that I kissed someone. But I have to unburden myself and deal with the consequences.

 

“I…uh…I,” I pause a moment and inhale shakily, trying to regain control of my voice. “I have to tell you something.”

 

“What is it?” he asks cautiously.

 

I let out a sob and follow with a deep breath before the words come pouring out. “Something happened…with a guy I used to date. We were both drunk, and it didn’t mean anything, but it still happened and you have to know.”

 

“Slow down, Katniss...what happened?”

 

“We kissed,” I admit.

 

“You kissed this guy?”

 

“Um…not exactly,” I try to explain. “He kissed me.”

 

“While you were drunk?”

 

“Yeah,” I say, sniffling.

 

“Katniss, that’s not okay!” he bursts out. I rest my head on my hand as I start sobbing again. I know I deserve this, but it still hurts to hear it. He continues, “He _attacked_ you! Did you report this? God, who knows what else he could’ve done? This is why I worry about you so much!”

 

I raise my head, confused. What exactly is he saying? “You’re not mad at me?” I ask, disbelief evident in my voice.

 

“ _What_? No – you didn’t do anything wrong,” he tells me. “I’m just mad at this bastard who tried to hurt you! Katniss, are you sure you’re okay?”

 

I know I should be feeling relief right now. I’ve unburdened myself and Peeta’s taking it really well. But somehow, and I don’t even really understand it, I feel irrational anger bubbling inside me. Anger at Peeta. How is he _not_ angry at me? Why is he letting me off the hook here?

 

I know I’d be furious at him if he had just confessed that to me.

 

Everything just explodes out of me. “No, I’m not okay! I messed up and you don’t even care!”

 

“Calm down, what’s – ”

 

“Peeta, I’m not some poor defenseless girl who can’t take care of herself. This is my fault too!” I blurt out. “I messed up and you deserve better!”

 

He tries again to interrupt me, but I barrel forward. Every thought, every insecurity I’ve been feeling over the past few months – it’s like they’ve all been bottled up and I have to let them out. “This is just…this should be a wake-up call for you, Peeta. Did you see how awkward it was when I visited your family? How I don’t fit in? Have you noticed how I _never_ let us talk about anything important? We don’t even have any long-term plans to be together, maybe it’s better to just get out before we’re in too deep.”

 

I don’t know exactly what I was planning to say when I called Peeta today, but that wasn’t it. Peeta is, I think, stunned into silence for a few moments. Finally he asks me, “Are you done? Because you’re completely wrong, I don’t even know where to start – ”

 

“Think about it, Peeta,” I beg him. “I’m totally the wrong person for you. This is your opportunity to start fresh.”

 

“You don’t get to tell me that, Katniss,” he spits out bitterly. “ _You’re_ the one making a mistake right now.”

 

I don’t respond immediately. It’s a strange path that we’ve wandered down during this conversation, one that even I didn’t see us taking. But as we talk, I’m feeling calmer and more clear-headed than I have for awhile. I _know_ what I need to do. It’ll be best for me and for Peeta.

 

“Please, just listen to me for a minute,” I tell him. “It’s been obvious for a long time that things aren’t going to work out for us. It’s too hard; I just keep messing things up.”

 

“Katniss,” Peeta begins, and my heart breaks because I can tell he’s trying not to cry, “We can work this out. I know I didn’t try hard enough before, but I will now – _I will_.”

 

“I just don’t think there’s anything we can do,” I say quietly. “I’ll never be the right person for you.” My voice catches in my throat, just when I thought I had myself under control.

 

“What did I _ever_ say to make you think I’m unhappy?” Peeta cries. “I love you. Don’t you see that? I love you.”

 

These words, coming from Peeta, stop me in my tracks. I forget what I was going to say next. No one – outside of my family, that is – has ever said that to me before. He can’t mean it.

 

“You don’t love me, Peeta – you can’t. Nothing you know about me is worth feeling that way,” I say, probably more to reassure myself than anything.

 

“That’s not up to you!” he shouts. “You don’t get to decide how I feel!”

 

“You’re just trying to make me feel guilty!” I erupt without thinking.

 

I can hear Peeta breathing on the other end of the phone, probably trying to calm himself down. “I’m not,” he says evenly. I can hear the effort he’s making to control his voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

 

Something finally breaks inside me. I start sobbing again – real, full-body, wracking sobs. I can’t even bring myself to care that Peeta can hear me. “I’m…sorry,” I croak, repeating the words over and over until I finally gain a little bit of control over my voice. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

 

“Katniss, no. Please no, Katniss,” he implores me through his own tears. “Let me come to see you – we need to talk about this in person.”

 

I shake my head. “We tried, Peeta. It didn’t work.”

 

“Katniss, please don’t – ”

 

“I have to go, Peeta. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.” I don’t know how to end this, exactly. As sure as I am that this is the right decision, how do I say goodbye to Peeta – for good this time?

 

In a sad, resigned tone, Peeta asks me, “Can we at least talk again sometime when we’ve both calmed down? I won’t try to change your mind, but…” he trails off without finishing his thought.

 

I sigh heavily. “I don’t know, Peeta. It’s not going to change anything.” All of a sudden, I feel like I’m suffocating and I don’t think I can keep talking for another second. “I have to go. Goodbye, Peeta.”

 

Over the sound of my own sobs, I can barely hear him respond as I hang up the phone. I’m shocked at what just happened, even though I initiated it.

 

My chest heaves erratically and I clutch at my stomach, collapsing onto my bed in a fetal position. I feel pain – true, _physical_ pain – coursing through me. I’ve never felt anything like it. I lie face-down on the mattress, letting my pillow soak up my tears.

 

Even though my relationship with Peeta was built on distance, I’ve never felt further away from him than I do now. Now that I know I’ll never see him again.  A fresh wave of sobbing rolls over me as I realize the finality of what I just did. I can barely breathe.

 

I keep repeating in my head, like a mantra, that what I just did – ending my doomed relationship with Peeta once and for all – is all for the best. It’s all for the best. _It’s all for the best_.

 

And it is…right?

 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...sorry? Please bear with me through this difficult time for Katniss and Peeta. Their story isn’t over yet! Please review, or PM me, or contact me on tumblr (soamazinghere) to yell at me or otherwise let me know what you think!


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! Please continue letting me know what you think! Say hi on tumblr (soamazinghere) or twitter (@soamazinghere).
> 
> And as always, thanks sunfishdunes for being a great beta.

“Are you _sure_ you have to do this?” Prim asks me as she lounges on my bed. “Maybe you could get out of it if you really need to.”

 

I snort and continue looking through my closet, throwing clothes onto a growing pile near my suitcase. “Not if I want to keep my job,” I tell her. If there was any possible way to get out of this trip, I would’ve thought of it by now.

 

“Can’t you just…call in sick or something?” She moves to sit up, cross-legged, placing her chin into her hands. “I’m worried about you, Katniss. I don’t think this is a good idea,” she says, with genuine concern lacing her voice.

 

I sigh and stop what I’m doing, continuing to stare into the closet so that she can’t see my hurt reaction to her words. It _kills_ me that I’m handling the breakup so poorly that Prim is this worried about me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything she’s been doing these past few weeks to take care of me – I do – but I’m used to being the stronger one here. I’m the older sister and the one who’s spent her entire life trying not to show weakness to others. It’s hard for me to let her take care of me. I hate it.

 

I take a deep breath and pray that my voice stays steady. “I can’t call in, Prim. And I don’t need to,” I say as I turn toward her, trying to sound convincingly confident. “I’m fine.”

 

As always, she can see right through me. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you do anything other than work and sleep. I’d be happy if I even saw you eat on a regular basis!” she exclaims.

 

“I eat!” I protest. “You’re probably just at work when I do. You work a lot, too, you know.” Kneeling by my suitcase, I start folding the clothes that are currently sitting in a pile on the floor. I can’t believe the amount of _stuff_ I need to get through one week of a business trip.

 

“Yeah, and that wasn’t a problem before, but now you’re in bed at, what, eight o’clock every night?” she accuses me.

 

I refuse to look in her direction as I angrily stomp around my bedroom, continuing to get ready for my trip tomorrow. I don’t want to acknowledge the truth in her words. “I just need more time to get over this,” I explain. “I’ll get back to normal eventually.”

 

Prim gives me a sad smile. “I know. I just worry about you, you know? It’s been three weeks since you and Peeta broke up.”

 

To be honest, I don’t quite understand it either. Yes, I knew the breakup would hurt; I hadn’t had a relationship as serious as the one Peeta and I had for years. We weren’t even together for that long – it was just a few short months ago that I told him we could officially be a couple – but he’d been in my life, or at least in my thoughts, for most of this year.

 

Maybe it’s just how stressful the relationship was for me? I mean, it took a lot of emotional effort for me to cope with just being in a long-distance relationship. And then to have it fall apart so quickly? I feel like I failed, and I don’t like failure. That’s probably got something to do with how horrible I’m feeling.

 

I hope, at least, that Peeta isn’t feeling as badly as I am. I’m not going to try to delude myself into thinking that I didn’t hurt him – I could hear the pain in his voice when we last spoke – but I’m praying that he took my words to heart and realized that our relationship was doomed, practically from the start. And maybe he has more strength than I do to move on.

 

I’ve been ignoring the fact that he said he loved me. It was just…incomprehensible to hear that. For his sake and mine, I hope he didn’t mean it.

 

I wonder if Prim’s spoken to Peeta since we broke up. They used to text all the time, and maybe they still do. Does she know how he’s been handling everything? I don’t know why, but I find myself unable to resist asking her. “So, um…how’s Peeta doing?” I say casually, avoiding eye contact and hoping that she doesn’t read anything into my not-so-innocent question.

 

Prim narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. When I don’t say anything more, she shakes her head impatiently. “I don’t know. We haven’t been in touch since the breakup. It didn’t seem appropriate,” she tells me.

 

Damn. The one time I wouldn’t have minded her talking to Peeta behind my back… Then again, even though Prim and Peeta hit it off, I was never comfortable knowing that I was the main subject of their conversations. As far as I’m concerned, nothing good ever came of that before and probably wouldn’t now.

 

I just wish I knew if he was okay.

 

“Oh,” I respond. I can’t really say anything else without her asking me why I wanted to know. And I don’t have an answer for her, because I don’t even know.

 

But I need to try to alleviate some of Prim’s concerns. I make my way over and sit next to her on the bed. Looking down into my lap, I tell her, “I promise to do whatever it takes to get better. Maybe I’ll meet a new guy on this trip,” I joke.

 

Prim gives me a stony stare. “That’s not funny, Katniss.”

 

I guess it isn’t. I know I have no interest in meeting new guys, anyway. Sighing, I turn to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I know I’ll feel better soon. Just…thank you for trying to help me.”

 

After all, how long could pain this severe possibly last? There’s _no way_ that a person can feel this strongly for too long. At some point, it’ll fade and things will be normal again. I’m counting on it, because so far, nothing is helping. And I need to move on.

__________

 

I’m gripping the armrests of my seat so hard that my knuckles are turning white. I honestly can’t remember the last time I flew through turbulence this bad. In the front of the plane, all the flight attendants are seated and don’t look like they’re going to be getting up anytime soon. I jump when I hear a loud crash, but I calm down slightly when I realize that it’s just a pitcher that fell to the galley floor.

 

All I can see out the window beside me are clouds. No sky, no land – just white, everywhere. I’m usually fine with flying, but it’s times like these when I realize how absolutely powerless I am when I’m on an airplane. I have no control over the situation – I’m completely at the mercy of the pilots to get me to my destination safely. Relying on anyone for anything isn’t exactly a strong suit of mine.

 

Oh, and what’s waiting for me when the plane lands? _Chicago_. Yes, I am putting up with the bumpiest flight of my life just to get to…Chicago. The last place on earth I want to be going right now. The universe seems to be punishing me for something.

 

I’m rocked back and forth in my seat, and given how heavily the plane is shaking, I’m starting to seriously consider that the wings of the plane might snap off. Can that even happen? But it makes me wonder…if something breaks on the plane – not badly enough for us to crash – would we turn around and go back to DC?

 

_Stop it, Katniss!_ The number one rule of flying should be to never, ever wish for something to go wrong with a plane that is currently airborne. At least not one you’re currently flying in.

 

I just wish I was going anywhere but Chicago right now. Literally anywhere. There are just too many painful memories associated with the city. Well, the memories themselves aren’t painful, but I don’t want to face anything related to Peeta at the moment.

 

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to try to calm myself down. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m thinking about Peeta or if it’s because I’m scared that this plane is about to crash, but I feel tears pricking at my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter and bite the inside of my cheek when I feel the tears fall. There’s a kind-looking old woman sitting next to me, but I really don’t want her to think that I need her sympathy.

 

I can’t stop fixating on the fact that this trip was supposed to be happy. This was going to be the first time that Peeta and I were able to spend an entire week together. Despite all the problems we were having, I was really looking forward to being with him. I don’t think that being together would have solved our problems – that became painfully obvious to me after my last trip to Chicago, when neither of us made a move to actually try to address our difficulties – but we still could’ve simply enjoyed being together. I think we always did, even when things were tough. I know I did, anyway.

 

What now? Now I’m faced with a week of nothing but work. I’ll probably try to spend as many of my waking hours as possible working, just to distract myself from everything. Of course, working all the time has also been my coping strategy at home, and…it’s not exactly helping me. I’m still “wallowing in sadness” all the time. (Prim’s words, not mine…but she’s probably right.)

 

The right side of the plane dips abruptly, and my head hits the side of the window next to me. I wince and bring one hand up to my right temple, where I feel a small bump forming. The pilot comes over the intercom to assure us that the plane can withstand the turbulence, and that we’re not about to crash. We’re just going to continue to be very uncomfortable until we pass through this storm. Easy for him to say.

 

I feel really stupid for not getting out of the relationship with Peeta when I started seeing all the red flags. Like the fact that I could barely stand to think about him when we were apart without feeling depressed. Or the fact that I could never figure out how to talk to him on the phone. Instead I let myself get too emotionally involved and now I’m paying the price. I thought that I was stuck in my relationship with Peeta, but now I feel stuck in an entirely new way. I can’t move on. I can’t get past him.

 

Well, I _will_ move on. Eventually. I know I will. I just wish I hadn’t let these feelings get in the way of my better judgment. It would’ve been better to have never gotten involved with Peeta than to be feeling this way now.

 

Although the plane has been bouncing up and down for pretty much the past two hours, it becomes clear now that we are actually moving downwards steadily and getting close to landing. Looking out the window, I catch my first glimpse of the ground since we left DC. Seeing the lake, the familiar skyline, and even the usual approach to the airport sends pain shooting through my chest. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now – being back in Peeta’s hometown isn’t going to help me one bit. If anything, it’s going to set me back in my feeble attempts to get over him.

 

We’re about to land, so obviously there’s no going back now. I’ll just have to focus on my work and try my best to make it through with my sanity intact. I don’t really have any other choice.

__________

 

After the plane lands and all the passengers slowly file off, I try to make my way out of the airport as quickly as I possibly can. I make an effort to try not to notice how familiar everything is and how it all reminds me of Peeta. Still, I can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness in me when I walk past security and notice the spot where Peeta usually stands waiting for me. Empty.

 

Sighing, I turn away from the memory and continue making my way through the crowds. After a few minutes of walking blindly and not thinking about where I’m going, I bring myself to a sudden stop. I’ve been following the familiar path to the parking garage – to Peeta’s car – this entire time.

 

I _knew_ coming to Chicago was a bad idea.

 

Grabbing the handle of my suitcase, I turn around and retrace my steps back to where I came from. It occurs to me that I’ve never needed to find ground transportation at this airport before – well, aside from my trip last summer when I took the train. I’m definitely not doing that today. No way am I riding right through Peeta’s neighborhood, just blocks away from where he lives and works. Today I’ll be taking a taxi, and my client will be paying for it. I deserve that much.

 

I eventually find the taxi line and slowly make my way to the front. Once I’ve gotten in and told the driver which hotel I’m staying at, I lean my head back on the seat, closing my eyes and pretending to nap. This is my standard defense against chatty taxi drivers. Sometimes I put up with it and make a half-hearted attempt at small talk, but I really don’t feel like having a conversation today.

 

I keep my eyes closed for most of the drive, with just a few quick peeks to make sure that the driver isn’t purposely taking a roundabout way downtown. Thankfully we have an uneventful and quiet trip, and before I know it, he’s dropping me off at my hotel.

 

I try to move as quickly as I can to get to my room and be alone. The young woman who checks me in makes several friendly and upbeat attempts at conversation, but I cut her off with monosyllabic, disinterested answers. I don’t mean to be so rude, I just don’t have any politeness in me today. As soon as she hands me my room key, I wheel my bag briskly to the elevator and press the button for the tenth floor.

 

When I reach my room, it’s dark and cool inside, and it seems like the perfect time to take a nap. It’s only four o’clock in the afternoon, so I don’t see the need to set an alarm to wake me up later. How long could I possibly sleep? And also, it’s not as if I have any plans. In fact, taking a nap sounds like a great way to avoid thinking about what to do with myself this evening…and every other evening of the trip. Ugh.

 

I strip off my clothes and hop under the covers in just my underwear. In a few moments, I’m huddled under the blankets feeling relaxed, and I’m barely even thinking about Peeta. It’s a small victory. Closing my eyes, I try to quiet down the thoughts racing through my mind.

 

But the next thing I know, my peaceful rest is interrupted by a text message on my phone. Talk about bad timing – I couldn’t have been in bed for more than ten minutes. I groggily sit up and rub my eyes. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I almost do a double-take. It’s after seven o’clock. I’ve been asleep for over three hours. _Yikes_.

 

I roll over and fumble sleepily for the phone. When I see who the message is from, a wave of panic rolls over me. It’s Peeta.

 

“ _Katniss, are you in Chicago? Can we meet to talk?_ ”

 

He must’ve remembered the dates of my trip. I groan out loud, wishing I’d never told him. I flop back down onto the pillows and fight in vain against my tears. Seeing the message from him – knowing he _just_ wrote it – sends me right back to the last time we talked. When we broke up. Fresh waves of grief wash over me and soon I find myself wracked with sobs.

 

He’s still thinking of me. But why, after everything I said to him? And what does he want to talk about?

 

I turn onto my side, away from the phone, as I continue to weep. It was bad enough just knowing I was coming to Chicago – now I have to figure out what to say to Peeta, too? Why is he doing this?

 

My tears eventually slow and stop, and I find myself feeling incredibly angry with him for approaching me. It’s as if he’s purposely trying to sink me back into my grief and make it more difficult for me to move on. I know he doesn’t want to reconcile with me – not after everything we both said to one another – but what is he hoping to accomplish? To humiliate me? To berate me in person, rather than just over the phone?

 

I’m also angry with myself for my weakness, for letting Peeta have this kind of power over me. Why is it so easy for him to push me over the edge?

 

I pick up my phone again and realize that I’ve let almost an hour pass with no response since Peeta sent his text. He’s probably taking my lack of response as an answer, but I can’t leave it at that. I narrow my eyes as I think of what I want to say. In the end, I decide to keep it simple. “ _No. I don’t have anything to say to you._ ”

 

That message was kind of cold, maybe even a bit cruel, and I immediately regret it. Not to spare his feelings – right now I’m too angry to care – but because I don’t want to give him any indication of how poorly I’ve been handling the breakup. The message sounds spiteful and almost childish as I read it back to myself. I don’t know what he’ll read into it. I’d much rather him think that I’m over him.

 

A few minutes pass with no response from Peeta, enough time that I almost start to think that he’s not going to respond at all. But soon enough, another message comes through. “ _I’m not trying to convince you to get back together. All I want is to say goodbye._ ”

 

_It doesn’t matter, Peeta, because there is no way in hell I’m going to see you in person._ I can’t let him see me break down or lose control. And right now I don’t trust that I’m strong enough to face him.

 

It’s funny though, how there’s this tiny part of me that really does want to see him one more time. Thankfully it’s a very tiny part, and I can easily push it away.

 

I write: “ _I can’t. We already said goodbye._ ”

 

Peeta’s next message comes back quickly, as if he’d been expecting me to refuse him. I can almost hear him sigh. “ _Alright, Katniss. But for what it’s worth, I meant it when I said I loved you._ ”

 

I laugh in disbelief when I see what he wrote, but my laughter soon dissolves back into tears. Why is he trying to convince me that he loved me? What could that possibly accomplish? Does he want me to feel even more guilt over leaving him?

 

As I sit staring at the phone, reading and re-reading the message, I notice something else – he said he “loved” me.

 

Does that mean he doesn’t love me anymore?

 

But why does it matter? Why does that thought bother me so much?

 

If he doesn’t love me anymore, that’s a _good_ thing, isn’t it? It means that he’s moved on, that even if I’m still mired by my own grief, at least I know that he isn’t. That’s one less thing for me to worry about when I can’t sleep at night. It should reassure me. So why does it feel like the exact opposite?

__________

 

I tear my eyes away from the TV screen when I hear a loud knock at my door. “Room service!”

 

“Coming!” I shout as I pad across the room to open the door. I direct the waiter to put the tray on the desk and quickly sign my name to the bill that he hands me. After he leaves, I hurry across the room and lock the deadbolt on the door. I’m not planning on stepping out of this room for the rest of the evening.

 

If it sounds like I’m avoiding facing the real world by hunkering down in my hotel room, maybe that’s a little bit true. But I’m also legitimately exhausted. Repairing D12’s relationship with Capitol Consulting has been challenging, and it’s required me to work some very long days. Not that I’m necessarily complaining; the demanding client is just what I needed to keep me distracted. I think I’m making good progress on ensuring that D12 keeps Capitol Consulting as a customer (good for my career) and at the same time I’m being kept so busy that I’m not thinking about Peeta (good for my sanity). It’s a win-win.

 

Of course, at some point every day, I always end up back in my hotel room, alone, with nothing to distract me from my feelings. I can’t even bring myself to leave the hotel in the evenings to go do anything, partially because I’m still moping over my breakup and partially because I worry about running into Peeta. (Yes, I know this fear is completely irrational given that we’re two people in a city of three million.)

 

This is my third room service dinner in a row, and my third evening spent watching TV in my room. The hotel’s nice but the food is just…okay (in addition to being wildly overpriced). Still, it’s easier to call downstairs and have food delivered to me than it would be for me to change out of my pajamas and walk to a restaurant.

 

Tonight I’m having some kind of pasta with a Bolognese sauce.  It seemed like a safe choice – after all, how badly can you mess up a meat sauce for spaghetti? I carry my tray over to the bed and settle in to watch some Kardashians. More mindless TV to carry me through the evening.

 

As I pick at my food, I find my attention wandering away from the TV show. I start thinking of Peeta again, which is no surprise: he’s been entering my thoughts often these past few days. Peeta and Chicago go hand-in-hand.

 

I never responded to Peeta’s last text message. I didn’t know what to say, or maybe I already said everything I needed to say. For the rest of that evening, even though I wasn’t meaning to, I found myself checking my phone often. Part of me wanted him to send me another message, although the likelihood of that happening was low given that I had already ignored him. But for some silly reason I hoped he would. Why? And for that matter, what would I have said in response? Nothing.

 

My mind has been coming back again and again to one particular thing that Peeta wrote to me the other night. I grab my phone and pull up my text messages. There it is: “ _All I want is to say goodbye._ ”

 

It’s this idea of saying goodbye, a real goodbye, that I can’t stop thinking about. Maybe that’s what I need to move past him. To talk to him one final time and let him go for good.

 

Our entire relationship started back in that stupid airport almost a year ago, and we were in a very similar situation. Okay, to be honest, there were a lot of differences, but the similarity that strikes me is the fact that I wasn’t allowed to really say goodbye to him then either. And afterwards, I spent literally months thinking about him and wondering about the what-ifs. Again, stuck, not able to move forward.

 

Maybe to get over this breakup, I just need to talk to him one more time.

 

Deep down, I know this is a crazy idea. But I have this visceral _need_ to see him again, a need that I don’t really understand and certainly can’t explain. And nothing else has been helping me get over him, right? Maybe it’s time to do something different.

 

In a rare moment of decisiveness, I decide to go for it. Turning off the TV, I run to throw on my jeans and sneakers. My pajama top can stay on under my heavy winter coat – who cares? Suddenly I feel like I can’t move fast enough, like I’m going to miss some opportunity if I don’t get out of this hotel _right now_. I grab my purse and phone, turn off the lights, and jog out of the room without looking back.

 

__________

 

“Stop!” I tell the taxi driver. “You can drop me off right here.” We’re in Peeta’s neighborhood now, but about a block away from the bakery. I don’t want to be dropped off right out front, because what if Peeta, or one of his brothers, or his dad sees me? I need a little time to mentally prepare for what I’m about to do.

 

I pay the driver, stepping out into the bitterly cold night air, and watch the taxi speed away. The weight of the decision I’ve made settles over me, partially because I don’t have any easy way to get back to the hotel and it is freezing out here. I can’t hail a taxi off the street like I could downtown and while I know the train is technically an option, I don’t really feel like walking to the station when it’s this frigid outside. I guess I’ll figure it out later.

 

With a good amount of trepidation, I begin slowly making my way down the block toward the bakery. My body is begging me to move faster because of the cold, but my unsettled nerves are firmly in control right now. And they aren’t letting me move any faster than this. I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets and try to cover my face with my scarf as much as possible.

 

My pace gets slower and slower as I approach the bakery, until about a half block away when I stop moving altogether. I’m paralyzed, literally and figuratively frozen right here. Maybe I’m making a mistake.

 

I rush to stand in front of an ice cream shop a few doors down from the bakery. The shop is completely dark – I can’t imagine anyone wanting ice cream in this weather. Huddled in the doorway, I’m still freezing but at least now that I’m not in the middle of the sidewalk, I feel a little less…exposed. I need to think.

 

Didn’t I just think a few days ago that I’d likely lose control and break down into a sobbing mess if I saw Peeta in person? Yes, but that was on his terms and I was caught off-guard at the time. I have control of the situation now, because _I_ decided to come here. If anyone would be caught off-guard tonight, it’d be him.

 

But wasn’t I also worried about appearing weak? And wouldn’t it seem weak to just show up on his doorstep? I definitely can’t control what he might think of me just showing up like this. Even though I know that all I want to do is say goodbye to him, he doesn’t know that. He might think I’m here to beg him to get back together with me. He might be disgusted, thinking I’m that desperate. Or it might give him false hope.

 

I bounce up and down, shivering. All of this internal debate is making me sick to my stomach. I came here to try to help _myself_ get better, to get over Peeta once and for all. Can I just stop worrying about all these possible scenarios and get this over with?

 

I creep slowly out of the ice cream shop doorway and skulk along the storefronts, continuing to the bakery. I duck into a small walkway between the bakery and the building next door, hanging back far enough that I can see in the bakery’s windows but no one can see me. The lights are on and they’re still open, but it’s late enough that they should be getting ready to close soon.

 

My heart constricts as I see Peeta removing the day’s leftover pastries from the display and taking them back into the kitchen. His brother Hugh is sweeping in front of the display cases. Although I can’t hear anything from my vantage point, I notice Peeta laughing and joking easily with his brother. Just like normal. Just like he always did.

 

I peer through the window and try to see Peeta’s face – try to really look at it – to detect any signs that he might be sad or tired or otherwise be having any difficulties because of our breakup. It’s too hard to tell from where I am – I’m just too far away, and Peeta’s staying back behind the counter. But he looks the same as ever.

 

What would he think if he knew his ex-girlfriend was spying on him through the window _right now_?

 

He’d probably call the police and report me as a stalker. Honestly, what _am_ I doing here? What was I thinking? This was a mistake.

 

I’m simultaneously happy and sad to see Peeta like this. On the one hand, I did want him to get over me and return to normal. And it looks like he has. But I guess another, spiteful and selfish part of me wanted him to be hurting as badly as I am. I’m kind of ashamed to admit that I feel that way. After all, I’m the one who initiated this breakup.

 

I can’t do this. _I can’t do this_. There’s just no way to make this work. There’s no way for me to come out of my creepy hiding place and approach him with my dignity intact. It’ll be best for both of us if I just slink back where I came from without saying anything.

 

I really had wanted to say goodbye to him, although I guess it’s easier to _imagine_ doing that than it is to actually _do it_. So, this is it – this is going to be my last time seeing Peeta. Staring at him through a window without him even knowing I’m here. And this weird moment is, in a way, my goodbye to him. I don’t know if it’ll be enough for me but it has to be. Even if I ever come back to Chicago (and god knows I’ll do everything in my power to avoid it), I’ll never try something like this again.

 

I take one last, long look in the window before I turn my back and slip away. It’s about time for me to return to reality. I hope I can do it this time.

__________

 

I sit on the hard, dry ground with my arms wrapped around my knees, staring across the water at the planes taking off right over my head. The park is pretty deserted today, which surprises me. On the weekends this place is full of people playing sports, or having picnics, or watching airplanes. But I’ve never been here on a weekday before. I have the place to myself.

 

It’s been unseasonably warm this January, but I don’t mind that a bit. It makes it easier for me to get out of the house. Prim still worries about me all the time, to the point that I’ve started “making plans” to be out when I know she’s going to be home. It reassures her that I’m trying to get myself back together and live my life the way I used to. Before Peeta. But really all I’m doing is going out and finding somewhere that I can be alone, away from her concern and pity. Today I drove just across the river to Virginia and came to this park.

 

Last month was my dreaded trip to Chicago, and it’s been over six weeks since Peeta and I broke up. _Six weeks_. I had no idea that it would be possible for me to hurt this much for this long. I honestly believed that the pain would’ve faded considerably by now. Why hasn’t it? I still have so many rough days.

 

The holidays were particularly difficult this year. Effie and Prim couldn’t stop discussing my breakup with Peeta, thinking that they were trying to help me move on by talking through it. But all they did was embarrass me by constantly calling attention to the fact that I was still struggling. Really all I wanted them to do was treat me like they always did and pretend like nothing happened. Even if things weren’t normal, I wish they would’ve faked it, for my sake. I wish they’d just forgotten about Peeta, like I’m still trying – and failing – to do.

 

I find myself often thinking about the fact that Peeta told me that he loved me. I don’t know why I care so much, but I desperately wish he hadn’t told me the way he did. The fact that Peeta felt forced to say it when I was breaking up with him probably made the breakup more painful for both of us. I wonder if just knowing that he felt so strongly – knowing that he loved me, which I’m pretty sure is something that no one aside from my family has ever felt for me – actually compounded my problems and made this situation even harder.

 

Another possibility, which I’ve been slowly coming around to recently, is that my feelings for Peeta were stronger than I realized. Or stronger than I was willing to admit to him, or to myself. I know I care about him a lot – or I used to, at least – because why would I ever have agreed to be in a long-distance relationship with him otherwise? But I guess I’m just coming to the realization that my feelings ran deeper than I ever imagined they would.

 

Did I love him? I find myself asking that often. I don’t think so…other than how I feel about Effie and Prim, I’m not even sure I know what love feels like.

 

Seeing the planes taking off overhead almost makes me nostalgic for the days when I was traveling to see Peeta once or twice a month. I always dwelled on the bad aspects of our relationship when we were together, but now when I look back, I mostly remember the good. That’s part of why I’m so gloomy now, I think. I know I don’t have anything in my life that gives me that kind of happiness anymore.

 

I wonder if Peeta’s okay. The last text he sent to me – where he told me that he really had loved me – was the last time he ever spoke to me. It’s so strange to have someone who meant so much to me, who was such an important part of my life (as I’m realizing now…) leave it in such a cold, impersonal way. A text message. The circumstances aren’t his fault; they’re what we were given. They were what I ultimately chose. Our relationship started under strange circumstances too, spending the night together in that airport last year. Maybe it’s not so unbelievable that it would end under equally odd circumstances.

 

I cry a lot less frequently these days; I’m more numb than anything else. But right now I feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes again, so I stand and walk back to my car, wiping the dirt off the back of my jeans. There aren’t many people around, but I don’t want anyone to see me cry.

 

How did I end up here? There’s another question I ask myself all the time. I’m not trying to imply that I don’t deserve the pain I feel, because I know I was largely responsible for the problems Peeta and I faced, and I was the one who instigated the breakup. But I’d like to figure out how I messed things up so badly.

 

There’s an impractical part of me that would like to know if there’s any way to fix it.

 

 

 

 


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta sunfishdunes for all her help. And thanks to all of you for your comments – I appreciate them so much! Please continue letting me know what you think.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr or twitter (soamazinghere).
> 
> If you weren’t already aware, there is a Peeta version of this story, and two new chapters were posted this week. Check my profile for the link.

I blink my eyes in confusion as I wake up in an unfamiliar bed. It’s comfortable though, and I’m tired, so I don’t make any move to get up. Soon the smell of bacon frying somewhere nearby wafts through the room, and I suddenly remember where I am – Aunt Effie’s house.

 

In my desperation to dig my way out of the hole that is my life right now, I suggested to Prim that we take a trip back home to visit Effie. I’m hoping that a change of scenery will help me re-focus and gain some clarity on how to move forward. At this point, it certainly can’t hurt. Despite all the memories of my parents that resurface when I return to my hometown, everything here just feels simpler, somehow. And simple sounds really good right now.

 

For the past couple of months, this idea of “moving forward” has been synonymous with moving on from Peeta. I’d been certain that once I stopped feeling so miserable about the breakup itself, things would start to look up. But I was wrong. Actually, I don’t really know whether or not I was wrong, because I haven’t even reached the point of _not_ feeling completely miserable. I have no idea if things are going to get better.

 

The problem is that I’m no longer certain that moving on is the right thing to do. I don’t know if I want to. My feelings for Peeta aren’t fading away as I expected; if anything, it’s becoming more and more obvious that they’re still there, and much stronger than I ever thought they were. This discovery is making things difficult. I have this disturbing suspicion that breaking up with Peeta wasn’t the solution to my problems, as I thought it might be. But what is?

 

Knowing that I still don’t have any answers, I struggle out of bed and pad slowly toward the kitchen where I can hear Prim and Effie talking in hushed voices. They end their conversation abruptly when I enter the kitchen, both looking at me a bit guiltily. I’m suspicious, but the best thing I can do right now is ignore them.

 

“Good morning!” Effie greets me a little too cheerfully (even for her, which is saying a lot).

 

“Morning,” I mumble as I make my way to the counter to see what Effie made for breakfast. There’s the bacon that I smelled earlier, along with a stack of pancakes…my favorite breakfast. I’m not particularly hungry right now, but I take some because I know Effie made it just for me.

 

I take my plate to the table and slather some maple syrup over my pancakes. Looking down at my food, I pick at it uninterestedly for a few moments before I slowly realize that Effie and Prim are watching me silently. I straighten up in my chair and make a big production out of taking a large bite, staring at them with a challenge in my eyes as I chew.

 

Finally Effie speaks up. “How did you sleep last night, dear?”

 

“Fine,” I tell her flatly, my mouth still full of pancake.

 

“And how are things at work? You haven’t told me how that’s going – ”

 

“Absolutely wonderful,” I say, cutting her off. She and Prim share a quick glance as they hear my obvious sarcasm. I hadn’t necessarily woken up in a bad mood this morning, but seeing them practically conspiring behind my back has left me feeling defensive.

 

Prim raises her eyebrows at Effie and ever-so-slightly nods her head in my direction. Effie takes the hint and asks the question that, I assume, they’ve both wanted to ask all morning. “Katniss, dear, are you still having…difficulties from your breakup with Peeta?”

 

Shaking my head, I respond, “No, I’m fine.” It’s obvious to everyone how blatantly I’m lying – Prim snorts and rolls her eyes as soon as the words leave my mouth – but I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of immediately caving to their morbid curiosity.  

 

Effie sighs and quietly places her fork on the table next to her plate. I turn to my sister – it’s easier to be angry with her than Effie. “Do you have to start in on me right away? We’ve barely even been here twelve hours.”

 

A concerned look crosses Effie’s brow and she jumps to Prim’s defense. “She’s just worried about you – we both are! You’re clearly not ‘fine.’”

 

“Then why did you even ask me how I was doing, if you already know?” I demand, meeting her eyes as I nibble on a slice of bacon.

 

Prim and Effie share a look of what I can only guess is annoyance as I shuffle the food around on my plate. My sister takes a deep breath and begins speaking hesitantly. “What can we do, Katniss? To help you get better? It’s been too long…how can we help you get over Peeta?”

 

“Prim says she’s never seen you like this,” Effie adds, grabbing my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We don’t want you hung up on Peeta forever. We want you to be happy with another young man someday.”

 

“I know it’s hard right now, Katniss, with it being the one-year anniversary of when you and Peeta met. I get it,” Prim says sympathetically. “But you have to…”

 

Prim drones on, but I don’t catch the rest of what she says. I stopped listening when she said “one-year anniversary.” Could it really have been that long? Apparently she and Effie give me too much credit – maybe it would almost make sense to be mourning because of a significant anniversary, but I’ve been too wrapped up in myself to even notice. The thought of commemorating a day that was otherwise pretty horrible – stuck sleeping on an airport floor during a snowstorm – hadn’t ever occurred to me. And yet for some reason, once I realize this, something inside me breaks.

 

I can’t stop thinking about everything that changed in my life because of one unlucky event. I remember, even if I could hardly admit it to myself at the time, how exciting it was to meet and spend time with this new person. How sweet and caring and amusing he was, even though he barely knew me. How he looked out for me the entire time even though I was borderline hostile toward him when we first met. Somehow, we managed to turn that improbable first meeting into a real relationship, which just blows my mind when I think about it now. And I threw it away…for what again?

 

“I don’t want to get over him,” I interject quietly, cutting Prim off mid-sentence.

 

“Excuse me?” Prim asks.

 

I blink and try to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall. Taking a deep breath, I repeat, “I don’t want to get over him. I made a mistake.”

 

Effie and Prim give each other a confused look. I suppose this wasn’t a reaction they weren’t anticipating. But once I’ve spoken those words aloud, I find myself wanting to say more, to confess everything that I haven’t been willing to say to anyone for so long.

 

“I don’t want to _forget_ him, and I don’t want to _move on_ ,” I say emphatically. “I want him back. God, I wish I could just go back and re-do everything.” Dropping my head into my hands, I feel compelled to say one more thing that I never thought I’d say. I whisper the words so quietly that even I can barely make them out. “I love him.”

 

“Katniss…” Prim begins hesitantly, “where is this coming from? I thought you’d been unhappy with your relationship for a long time?”

 

I stop to think for a minute. She’s not wrong. I furrow my brow and try to put my thoughts together coherently. “I was unhappy with…the distance, I guess? But not Peeta! I suppose I always took it out on him though,” I say glumly. Groaning, I lay my head on the table. “I deserve this after everything I did.”

 

Effie reaches over and lays her hand gently on the back of my head, stroking my hair like she did when I was a little girl. It’s a comforting gesture, but I don’t think I deserve it right now. “Katniss, no one deserves to be unhappy, you included. Maybe you can fix this.”

 

I sigh to myself. She’s always so hopeful, but I don’t think that this is a fixable situation. “I doubt it, Effie. It’s been so long, and I already refused to see him once. He’s probably moved on and found someone else by now.”

 

“You want him back though?” Prim asks incredulously. I guess I did a very good job of being unhappy with Peeta.

 

Sitting back up, I shrug and tell her, “Yes, but I know he won’t come back.”

 

“Why? Why won’t you try?” she exclaims. “He loved you too, you know. He probably still does.”

 

“Because…because…” I trail off, uncertain of how to continue. It’s not that I don’t know how to answer her, it’s that I don’t want to say it out loud. It’s because I’m scared. Scared to admit my mistakes, scared to be rejected, scared to speak my feelings aloud and then just lose him again.

 

Mercifully, Effie speaks up when it becomes clear that I can’t. “I know you, Katniss. You’re always going to wonder what you might have had with Peeta. You won’t move on if you don’t try.”

 

I’m not sure if what Effie’s saying is really true – I think she’s caught up in this romantic notion of me and Peeta and she wants to see me go after him. But on the other hand, I kind of always have wondered about Peeta, haven’t I? From the very start I couldn’t get him out of my head. But it’s not _me_ – I don’t live my life with this crystal-clear focus, making bold moves to get the things I want – it’s _him_. The reason I’d always wonder is because…he’s Peeta. He’s always drawn me in.

 

“I don’t know how to fix it,” I admit, resigned.

 

Prim shakes her head in exasperation. “Just…get over yourself and tell him how you feel! You’re making this way too complicated. Yeah, he might not feel the same way, but at least you’ll have said it,” she cries.

 

“But how do I say something like that on the phone?” I ask her. “I just…there’s just no way I could do that.”

 

Prim grabs my hand and looks at me like I’m an idiot for not already knowing what she’s about to say. “You don’t tell him this over the phone, Katniss. It’s too important. You messed up, and you know it. You need to go there and find him. Tell him to his face.”

 

The thought of doing that – which sounds almost embarrassingly like something out of a romantic comedy – is so horrifying that just thinking about it makes me want to go crawl into a closet and hide. I can really only envision ways that it could go wrong: he’s not home, he’s out of town, he slams the door in my face… It seems so much more likely that making a gesture of going to see him will end up with me looking like a fool.

 

At the same time, I realize that if being embarrassed or feeling foolish are the worst things that I can imagine happening, that’s not so important in the grand scheme of things. I was the one who broke up with him – and he tried to talk me out of it – so it’s my responsibility to make things right again. If that’s even possible. A phone call probably isn’t enough to let him know I’m serious. And Peeta has to see that I’ve realized how wrong I was.

 

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I say truthfully.

 

“You can,” Effie says reassuringly. “But whatever you decide to do, we’ll always be here for you. And whatever happens, we’ll support you, dear.”

 

I let Effie pull me into her arms, returning her embrace tightly. I feel paralyzed with fear. I know what I need to do, I’m just not sure I have the courage or the strength to do it…even though it feels like my only chance at happiness right now.

 

After everything I put Peeta though, I’m still not convinced that I deserve him, despite what Prim and Effie might say. They have to love me unconditionally; Peeta doesn’t. And they’re both optimistic romantics, so they might be a little blinded by their hope that Peeta and I will have a storybook ending.

 

And even if I was able to convince Peeta to take me back, I’d have to make some big changes to make our relationship work. I’d have to start talking to him – _really talking_ – about…well, everything I’ve been avoiding talking about. I probably did other things wrong too, things that I’m not even aware of. How do I fix it if I don’t even know what the problem is? In the end, I’m just not sure I’m redeemable.

 

But I know that I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him. And I also know that without him, I just feel empty. As scared as I am, as many excuses as I’m coming up with to not act, I still want to make things right. Whatever that means. I guess it means that I have to put myself out there and risk getting hurt. I don’t think I really have a choice.

__________

 

I’m anxiously staring out the window of Prim’s car as we cross the bridge from DC into Virginia. Not that I’m noticing any of the passing scenery, though; in fact, I don’t think I’ve really registered anything since we left our apartment a few minutes ago. I’ve never in my life felt this nervous and unsure of myself. I have absolutely zero confidence in my ability to fix things with Peeta, but I know that I owe it to him and myself to do the right thing for once. We’ll either work this out or…finally get to have a real goodbye, I guess.

 

Turning to my sister, I say, “Tell me I can do this.”

 

Prim gives me an encouraging smile. “I know you can, Katniss. You won’t regret it.”

 

After Effie and Prim’s “intervention” last weekend (that word seems wrong somehow, but that’s what it felt like to me), I immediately bought myself a plane ticket to Chicago leaving just days later. I didn’t want to wait because I knew I’d probably rationalize myself into _not_ going if I did. Prim and I got back from visiting Effie on Sunday; it is now 6:14 a.m. on Tuesday and we are headed to the airport so that I can catch my 7:30 a.m. flight to Chicago.

 

And I’m so certain that this meeting will be a disaster that I bought a flight home for 8:35 p.m. tonight. I just can’t imagine myself staying even one night in Chicago if ( _when_ ) this talk with Peeta ends in disaster.

 

“Listen,” Prim says to me urgently, “most of your problems happened because you and Peeta didn’t want to talk, right?” I nod my head in agreement. “You _have_ to talk. And I hate to say this, but for today, _ignore your instincts_.”

 

“And what if he doesn’t want to talk?” I ask. It sounds like I’m still making excuses, but I’m really not. I’m rehearsing in my head what I’m going to do in different scenarios. Preparing in advance makes me feel a little less panicky.

 

“Peeta loves to talk!” Prim exclaims. “Okay, he might not want to talk after what happened, but…he loves you. Convince him.”

 

“He _loved_ me,” I correct her, placing emphasis on the past tense. “I’m sure he doesn’t anymore.”

 

“Quit it! Stop trying to talk yourself out of it before you even get there,” she cries. “You need to have some confidence or you won’t do it.”

 

I take a deep breath in through my nose and slowly release it, trying to settle myself. Everything feels like it’s moving so fast right now. “I know,” I concede.

 

“Another thing, Katniss,” Prim begins. She pauses for a moment, looking conflicted, before she speaks again. “I wouldn’t normally tell you to do this, but try not to think too much about Peeta and this whole situation before you get there. You’re bad at speeches and I don’t want you trying to think of the right words to say. It’ll sound forced, you know? Distract yourself as much as you can, and when you find him…just tell him everything.”

 

“And what if Peeta’s not there?” I ask.

 

Prim shakes her head and holds up a hand. “ _Don’t_ ,” she warns me. “Besides, didn’t he spend all his money on tickets to see you? Stop thinking about the what-ifs.”

 

This is a lot for me to keep straight in my head. I add everything Prim said to the mental list I’ve been compiling to remind me what I need to do. Not that I’m likely to remember anything when it comes down to it, but I can try.

 

We pull into the airport departures area. Prim idles her car as we both get out. I don’t have any bags to carry today, just my regular purse. This will be a short trip, after all.

 

Prim wraps her arms around me in a supportive embrace. “The most important thing,” she says quietly into my ear, “is to make sure Peeta knows you love him. You can work out everything else.”

 

I nod, unable to form any words in response. I wave to Prim and watch her car as she drives away. Finally I turn around and march into the airport. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

__________

 

After my flight lands in Chicago, I have to decide whether to go directly to Peeta’s apartment or try the bakery first. As reluctant as I am to go to the bakery (with the prospect of possibly having to face Peeta’s dad or brothers), I choose to go there first because Peeta usually works on weekdays.

 

Somehow I manage to navigate my rental car to Peeta’s neighborhood and find a parking spot near (but not _too_ near) the bakery. I momentarily freeze as I contemplate what I might face when I go inside. Ideally, I would find Peeta by himself and somehow figure out a way to talk to him without anyone else knowing I was even there. But that seems highly unlikely. How will his dad or brothers react if they see me? Will they be angry? What if Peeta refuses to talk to me right off the bat?

 

_Stop it!_ I have to remember what Prim said. Quit going over the what-ifs. I can’t control any of these things. I just have to do it.

 

Taking a few deep breaths, I attempt to clear the negative thoughts out of my head. In fact, I try to clear _all_ the thoughts out of my head – as Prim said, I don’t want to sound too rehearsed. I just want to tell him, as honestly as possible, what I feel.

 

I get out of the car and practically sprint the half block to the bakery before I lose my nerve. Throwing open the front door, I duck inside without even looking to see who’s there. I take a moment to catch my breath, panting both from the exertion and my nervousness, when I see…no one. It’s just me here, alone.

 

But not for long. The bell over the front door rang when I entered, so whoever is in the kitchen right now will come out shortly, I’m sure. Soon enough, the kitchen door swings open abruptly, and Hugh emerges. I groan inwardly; this is _just my luck_. I’m going to have to deal with Peeta’s family before I even get a chance to talk to him. Hugh had a pleasant smile on his face, but it quickly fades into an expression of shock when he sees me.

 

“Katniss?” he asks disbelievingly.

 

I bite my lip and sigh, looking anywhere but at him. “Um. Hi.”

 

We stand awkwardly in silence for a few moments. I don’t know if he’s waiting for me to speak up, but I don’t know what to say. Finally, he speaks up, an impatient look crossing his face. “Do you need something?” he asks bluntly.

 

“Yeah…is Peeta here?” I look at him timidly, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

 

Hugh gazes thoughtfully around the empty store, and finally gestures toward the door he just came through. “Come back to the kitchen.”

 

I gulp anxiously. Peeta’s right on the other side of that door, totally unprepared to see me. I have no idea what kind of reaction I’m going to provoke by showing up here unannounced today. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself to face him (and whoever else might be in the bakery today) as I follow Hugh into the kitchen.

 

When I pass through the door, I look around and become concerned. There’s no one here except for Hugh. Why did he ask me to come with him? “I thought you told me Peeta was here,” I say uncertainly, my eyes roving back and forth to make sure I’m not missing something.

 

Hugh crosses his arms and leans on one of the counters. “No I didn’t.”

 

He stares at me suspiciously for a few moments without saying anything. I feel myself shrinking away from him as he looks at me intently with a challenge in his eyes. He probably wants me to explain myself, but I didn’t come here to talk to him.

 

“Can you tell me where he is?” I ask in a shaky voice. Under his intimidating gaze, I’m utterly failing in every attempt to appear confident. “I need to find him.”

 

“Why? What exactly are you doing here?”

 

I fix my eyes on a spot somewhere above Hugh’s head as I respond inarticulately. “I just…need to talk to him.”

 

His eyes never leave my face, like he’s trying to figure out my intentions just from my facial expressions. “So you just _happened_ to be in the neighborhood and thought you’d stop by to see him?” he asks sarcastically.

I press my lips together in frustration. “No! I was…I just need to talk to him,” I repeat. This interrogation is a waste of my time. I’m anxious to find Peeta as quickly as I can, but Hugh’s just delaying me. Shaking my head, I push past Hugh and head for the back door. “Forget it, I’m leaving – if Peeta’s not here, he must be at his place.”

 

As I pull open the back door and feel the freezing January air hit my face, Hugh calls, “No, he isn’t! But I know where he is.”

 

I step back inside, letting the door close as I slowly turn around to face him. Mirroring his pose, I cross my arms over my chest. “Stop playing games,” I snap. “Just tell me where I can find him.”

 

“I don’t know if he wants to see you, Katniss!” Hugh exclaims. “He never told us exactly what happened but…you don’t realize how much you hurt him. He hasn’t been himself for months.”

 

I let my arms drop, leaning heavily against the bakery’s back door. If he’s trying to make me feel guilty – or more guilty than I already feel – he’s succeeding. I guess I don’t have any choice but to talk to Hugh, though, since he’s the only one who knows where Peeta is. _If_ he’ll even tell me where Peeta is. “I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely. When it looks like he’s waiting for me to say more, I reluctantly add, “I know I messed up. This…hasn’t been easy for me either.”

 

“Why are you here?” he asks me again. “I won’t tell you where he is unless you tell me that.”

 

“I want to tell him I was wrong and – ”

 

Hugh cuts me off angrily. “If you’re here to beg him to come back, you better have figured out what was wrong in the first place. It’s not fair to him. He loves you! This is serious for him.”

 

“Do you think I’d be here if I wasn’t serious?” I hiss. “I want to see if he can forgive me. And if he can’t, then I’ll leave him alone and go back home.”

 

“Did you even understand how strongly he feels about you?” Hugh asks. “If you don’t feel the same – ”

 

“I do, okay?! I love him.” Hugh is the third person I’ve confessed this to – Effie and Prim being the first two – and I still haven’t said it to Peeta. I’m angry that I was forced to admit something so personal, but there’s no going back now. “That’s why I’m here,” I continue emphatically. “I’ve been miserable for the past two months and I’ve finally figured out why. I _get it_ if you’re mad at me. But will you please just tell me where Peeta is?” I plead.

 

Hugh continues trying to read the emotions on my face; this time, I stare right back at him and don’t avoid his gaze. I don’t know what he sees, but finally he seems to take pity on me. Sighing, he shakes his head and says, “Fine. I don’t think he’d forgive me if I sent you off anyway. He’s at his apartment.”

 

“But earlier you told me…?” I sputter in annoyance.

 

Hugh shrugs unapologetically. “I wanted to talk to you, and you wouldn’t have stayed otherwise.”

 

I’m incredibly irritated that he just wasted a good chunk of time that I could have spent talking to Peeta. But my emotions are running high in general right now and I don’t have enough time to spend getting angry at him, so I just huff in exasperation and run for the back door.

 

At the last second, I turn back to him. “Hugh, um…” I begin hesitantly. “Can you please not tell Peeta that I’m here? I just worry that he’ll refuse to see me. I know he’d be justified but…” I trail off. There’s really no good excuse for me to ask him to do this, but I don’t want to know what Peeta will do if he gets advance warning that I’m here.

 

Hugh just waves me toward the back door. “Just go, Katniss! I won’t tell him anything as long as you go and tell him everything you came to say.”

 

I nod as I head outside. “I will. I promise.”

__________

 

When I arrive at Peeta’s apartment building, I immediately jump out of the car and hurry inside. Waiting around won’t help me at all – I’ll either work myself into a nervous frenzy or start second-guessing my actions. I know he’s inside, so there’s no use stalling. I run upstairs and knock loudly on his front door.

 

Inside the apartment, I can faintly hear sounds coming from the kitchen. “Coming!” he shouts. Hearing his voice again – it’s been two months, after all – sends a wave of sadness and longing over me. I feel awkward, knowing that he has no idea that I’m waiting for him on the other side of the door. It’s like I’m ambushing him. I’m so scared of how he’ll react to seeing me.

 

I can hear him running toward the door and I tense up, anticipating the moment that I’ll see him again. He abruptly pulls the door open, but stops short when he sees me standing there. He opens and closes his mouth a few times; I don’t think he can quite believe that it’s really me. I can barely look him in the face, but it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s not betraying any particular emotion other than shock. I wouldn’t know if he’s ecstatic or furious right now. His expression is just…blank.

 

“Katniss,” he finally manages to force out.

 

“Hi,” I respond softly. I don’t make any move to come inside though; he hasn’t asked me to and I’m not going to intrude. If he doesn’t want me here, I’m leaving. “Um, I wanted to talk, if you have a minute.”

 

Peeta looks at me with confusion and responds as if he didn’t hear me at all. “What are you doing here?”

 

I gather my courage and look him directly in the eyes. Trying to keep my voice steady, I tell him, “I came to see you.”

 

Peeta makes several attempts to say something, but for once he doesn’t seem to have any words. His eyes are focused intently on me, though. Still, he doesn’t invite me inside. I stand uneasily for several moments, shifting back and forth on my feet and wrapping my arms protectively around my middle. I can’t maintain eye contact.

 

Finally, I can’t take the silence any longer. “If you don’t want to talk, I’ll leave,” I say hesitantly. “But…I hope you’ll listen to me for at least a minute.” I glance up at him hopefully.

 

Peeta continues to stare at me with an unreadable expression, but eventually he moves to the side, making room for me to enter his apartment. The door closes behind him and I take a few careful steps into the kitchen, removing my hat and gloves. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he informs me flatly.

 

Obviously.

 

As I walk further into the apartment, I notice that everything seems the same as I remember it. Not that I would necessarily expect anything to change in two months, but I expected it to feel different, somehow. After all, this isn’t my boyfriend’s apartment anymore.

 

I smile to myself as I notice that Peeta seems to have been doing some baking in the kitchen. There are several dirty mixing bowls in the sink and something’s in the oven. I’m not sure what, exactly. “So, you bake even on your days off, huh?” I joke nervously, turning to face him. He’s not smiling, though.

 

“Why are you here, Katniss? You made it pretty clear that you didn’t have anything more to say to me,” he tells me bitterly. He doesn’t move an inch from where he stands just inside his front door.

 

I’ve never seen such a cold look on his face as the one he’s giving me now, and I can’t look at him. I close my eyes and drop my head, feeling ashamed. When I sent those text messages to him in December, I believed that he was the source of all my problems. I couldn’t imagine talking to him. Still, I wish I’d tried harder not to hurt him. “I’m sorry I said that. I was wrong,” I say in a small voice.

 

Peeta leans against the door and crosses his arms. He looks at me expectantly and raises his eyebrows. “So, you said you wanted to talk.”

 

“Um…yeah…” Words fail me briefly. Much like with his brother earlier, I’m feeling very intimidated.

 

“Say what you have to say then,” Peeta tells me with a stony look on his face.

 

I realize at this moment that there is absolutely nothing I can do to make this any easier. As Peeta said, I have to just say what I came to say – _everything_ – and see how he responds. This is the part where I’d feel more comfortable if I’d memorized something in advance…but then again, I know what needs to be said. The question is if I can get all the words out coherently.

 

I begin apprehensively, nervously clenching my fists. “I, uh, don’t know exactly how to say all this, but…when we were together, I had a lot of trouble dealing with the distance between us and I was afraid to talk about it,” I admit. “I thought I’d feel better if we broke up, because even if I hurt for awhile, I wouldn’t have to…deal with that anymore, I guess? But, um…I was wrong. I hurt more now than I ever did before.”

 

He looks at me skeptically. Suddenly I realize that I should be more up-front in expressing what I came here for. “I want another chance, Peeta,” I whisper.

 

Peeta looks at the ceiling as he responds. “I’m not here to help you feel better. I’m hurting too, you know,” he says, turning back to me. “I was in love with you. _You_ decided you didn’t want this.”

 

I sink back against the kitchen counter, placing my head into my hands. “I know, I know,” I cry. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

 

Peeta continues heatedly, “I’m not willing to go back to that – waiting around for your feelings to catch up with mine. Or for you to admit it, whatever it was. You were never going to let it happen.”

 

At these words, I feel myself start to break down. I turn my back to him and stumble toward the living room, trying to put some distance in between us so I can breathe again. But I’m wracked with these embarrassing choking sobs that I can’t seem to control. I sit heavily on the couch and press my hands into my face, trying to at least muffle the sounds of my tears.

 

Behind me, I hear Peeta start to move in my direction. “Katniss, I – ”

 

I put my hand up and shake my head, attempting to stop him from speaking or moving any closer. I don’t look up, but I can tell that he’s stopped moving and is waiting for me to speak. It’s several minutes before I’m able to gain my composure enough to say anything more. “You’re right about me, Peeta,” I say quietly, my voice still unsteady. “You’re right about how I felt. I wasn’t able to admit my feelings until after…” I close my eyes and feel tears streaming down my cheeks.

 

Peeta slumps into a chair on the other side of the living room and stares at me. I can see the tears in his eyes, too.

 

Attempting to dry my eyes with my sleeve, I look at him timidly. I still haven’t told him the “most important thing,” as Prim called it. I have to say it now. “Listen, Peeta…I love you. I know that now. I wasn’t ready to say it before – ”

 

Peeta cuts me off with a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t, Katniss. Don’t say that just because you think I need to hear it. It’s not fair to either of us.”

 

I give him a horrified look through my tears. “You don’t believe me?”

 

“You didn’t believe me when I said it,” he reminds me.

 

I’m so ashamed to admit it, but he’s right. When he told me he loved me, I dismissed it because I didn’t understand how it could possibly be true. I didn’t realize that my opinion didn’t matter at all; he gets to decide if he loves me or not. How I’m feeling right now – hearing that _he_ doesn’t believe _me_ this time – must be how he felt before. And this is pain like no other.

 

Why have we both been stuck confessing our love to each other under such horrible circumstances? Why does it have to be associated with so much pain?

 

But I press forward anyway, even though I’m no longer holding out much hope. “I’m telling the truth,” I insist. “But yeah, I know why you don’t believe me. I told myself that today I was going to come and tell you how I felt, but I didn’t delude myself into thinking I was going to get what I wanted. I’m sorry to make this harder for us both, Peeta.”

 

I lean back against the couch cushions, feeling absolutely exhausted from this whole emotional discussion. Peeta sits silently across the room. I sneak a glance in his direction and see that he’s examining me. We both quickly look away.

 

I sigh loudly in frustration. Not with him, but with me for causing this entire situation. “I don’t know what else to say,” I tell him, feeling and sounding defeated. “I know I’ve apologized a million times, but…I’m sorry I messed up.”

 

More silence. I don’t know what to make of Peeta when he’s so quiet. This is so out of character for him.

 

He leans his head back on his chair, staring at the ceiling as he finally begins to speak. “It wasn’t just you, Katniss. I should’ve done more too. I knew things were going downhill and I never said a word. I was afraid,” he admits sadly.

 

I look down at my lap, trying to maintain my composure. It hurts me to hear him blame himself when I know that I was responsible for most of our troubles.

 

He continues softly, “You breaking up with me…it killed me. I’ve never felt anything like it. And I couldn’t even try to stop you because we were on the phone,” he pauses and swallows, his voice breaking a little, “and you were so far away. But seeing you here now…I still love you, Katniss,” he confesses.

 

After hearing that, I’m openly sobbing now. I don’t even try to hide it. Looking over at Peeta, I see that he’s wiping away a few tears as well. But neither of us makes a move to comfort the other.

 

“We failed at this once already,” Peeta muses glumly. “Who’s to say things would be different if we tried again?”

 

I nod slowly. “I’ve thought about that so much. What we could do to make things better, that is.” I grasp my hands nervously as I gaze off into the distance, thinking. “I’d have to change a lot…but I’m willing. I don’t blame you for thinking that I can’t do it, though.”

 

I sink deeper into the couch, looking out Peeta’s large front window. Part of me still has the strong urge to weep, but I think I’ve used up all my tears. I just feel…empty. Suddenly I feel the cushions shift slightly; I glance sideways and see that Peeta’s come to sit next to me. He hesitantly reaches over and grabs one of my hands.  I revel in the feeling of even this small touch – it’s been so long. I gently squeeze his hand in return, trying to let him know that I appreciate what he’s doing.

 

“Remember, it’s not just you,” he tells me in a low voice. “We’d _both_ have to change.”

 

We sit silently for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. Our hands remain clasped together comfortingly.

 

I’m slowly losing my nerve to continue this discussion. Not that I expected this conversation to go well, but I didn’t expect it to last so long and leave me feeling so drained. And I have no idea what he’s thinking. In a small voice, I ask him, “Do you want me to leave?”

 

“What?” he turns to me abruptly with an upset look. “No!” He intertwines our fingers and holds my hand even tighter.

 

I turn toward him and impulsively grab his other hand, giving him a pleading look. “I meant everything I said, Peeta. I really do want another chance. I really do love you,” I close my eyes momentarily and gulp back a lump that threatens to form in my throat. “I’ll do anything,” I whisper hoarsely.

 

Before I realize what’s happening, Peeta drops my hands and pulls me firmly into his chest. As he rests his chin on the top of my head, I can feel him take in a shaky breath. I wrap my arms around his waist and try not to think about when I’ll have to let go.

 

“If we do this,” he tells me in a broken voice, “we’ll both have to try harder than before. I can’t lose you again.” I nod against him, never lifting my head from where it lays over his heart.

 

“I love you,” I remind him. The sound is muffled in his shirt, but I know he hears me. He places one of his hands under my chin and slowly lifts my head, gazing into my eyes as if he’s searching for something. I try as hard as I can to maintain eye contact, but his intense stare is almost too difficult for me to hold.

 

“I love you too,” he finally responds, giving me the tiniest hint of a smile. “But you can’t leave me again.”

 

“Never!” I exclaim. And in this moment, I know I’m telling him the truth. He might not know it, but I do. I’ll do everything I can to make things work this time. “You can’t leave me either.”

 

In response, Peeta crashes his lips into mine, cradling my face in his hands. This kiss isn’t particularly soft, or sweet, or tender. It’s forceful and almost desperate, as if he’s trying to convince himself that I’m really here, that this is really happening. I know how he’s feeling, so I do my best to pour all of my emotions into the kiss as I return it with every bit as much strength.

 

We break away from each other to breathe, resting our foreheads together. I close my eyes, not really believing what’s happened today. I had almost no hope coming here – how could I be so lucky?

 

Peeta brings me back to reality with a question. “So you’re here…how long are you staying?”

 

“Oh, right,” I laugh softly. Glancing at the clock on his wall, I’m stunned at how much time has passed. “Um, I didn’t think this was going to work so…I have a flight home in four hours,” I admit reluctantly.

 

He pulls away from me abruptly. “Are you serious?” I shrug and give him a sheepish look.

 

“You can’t go tonight,” he informs me, pulling me back to rest against him. He locks his arms around me. “Maybe tomorrow? We have a lot to talk about.”

 

“I’ll stay,” I promise. “There’s no way you could get me to leave now, anyway,” I tell him playfully, as I turn around and find his lips again with mine. I smile against his mouth – probably the first time I’ve smiled all day. I’ve missed him so much.

 

I know we have a lot of hard work to do if we’re going to succeed, but this time I think I’m ready. I finally understand why it’s all worth it. Why we’re worth it.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for the long wait between chapters! I took some time away to participate in the Hunger Games Spring Fling Fic Exchange. The stories are still anonymous so I can’t tell you which one I wrote, but I encourage you to go on over and check them out anyway. (They're here on AO3.) There are lots of really great works.
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta sunfishdunes.
> 
> And keep those comments coming! I love reading them. Come say hi on tumblr, too (soamazinghere).

I haven’t slept this well in a long time. Even now, I’m so content that I really don’t want to open my eyes or even move, but someone is running his fingers over my stomach, trying to tickle me. Keeping my eyes closed, I attempt to wriggle away and burrow myself further under the blankets. He’ll follow me, of course. I’m counting on it. 

 

Peeta presses his chest against my back as he leans in close to my ear. “Hey,” he whispers.

 

I roll toward him and bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Hey.” Suddenly remembering that I have a flight back to DC today, I open my eyes. “What time is it?” I ask sleepily.

 

“It’s still early – you don’t have to get up yet,” Peeta reassures me, absently stroking my hair. I close my eyes again, losing myself in his touch. It’s been too long since we’ve had little moments like this, and honestly, I don’t know how long it’ll be until I have a chance to wake up next to him again. So I want to enjoy this. “I just wanted to see you awake,” he admits.

 

“That’s okay,” I murmur. “You weren’t staring at me while I was sleeping, were you? That’s creepy,” I tease him.

 

With my face pressed into Peeta’s neck, I can feel as well as hear his quiet laughter. He pulls back to look at me; I smile up at him. Before I have a chance to say anything, he abruptly rolls me onto my back and attacks my lips with his own. I wind my arms around his neck, trying to bring him as close to me as physically possible. I’ve missed this so much. No, that’s not quite right – I’ve missed _him_ so much.

 

Even though Peeta assured me that it’s still early, I know that I only have a few short hours before I have to leave. After Peeta and I spoke yesterday, he practically begged me not to go back to DC on my scheduled flight, which was last night. Honestly, he didn’t have to beg me – I didn’t want to leave either. I would never have come to Chicago and risk humiliating myself if I didn’t desperately miss him. So if he actually wanted me to stay, there was no way I was going to volunteer to leave.

 

I managed to book a flight departing this afternoon, which means that I had to take an extra day off of work. Plutarch may not be happy with me, but how often do I do something like this for myself? Still, I’m not going to push things with him too much – I’ll go back to work tomorrow. Thankfully, Peeta was able to take off from work today as well. (Maybe my awkward run-in with Hugh at the bakery yesterday wasn’t _all_ bad – Peeta told me that Hugh was more than willing to cover for him when he explained what had happened.) That gives us at least half of the day to be together. 

 

We spend several minutes doing nothing more than softly, slowly kissing each other. Peeta’s hands tangle themselves in my hair as mine move over the smooth skin of his back. Eventually Peeta breaks away from me, rolling onto his back and tucking me into his side. I hear him sigh and chuckle under his breath.

 

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

 

He answers without a second’s hesitation. “How lucky I am that you came back.” 

 

I lift my head from his shoulder and stare at him, wide-eyed. How can he even be thinking that? He doesn’t look at me, though; his eyes are closed as he places his hand on my head, drawing it back down to rest on him. “I don’t know about that,” I say disbelievingly. “I think _I’m_ the lucky one here – I’m lucky you were willing to take me back.”

 

Peeta doesn’t respond for a long moment. Eventually he shifts slightly onto his side, running his fingers down my cheek as he looks at me. I can barely hold his gaze; it’s almost as if he’s trying to memorize my features. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so surprised in my life as I was to see you at my door yesterday,” he tells me. 

 

I can feel my face heating up – I’m embarrassed just thinking about it. Looking away from him, I say, “I still can’t believe I really did it.” I laugh softly, remembering my mental state as I walked up to his apartment yesterday morning. “I was pretty sure you’d slam the door shut right in my face.”

 

In response, Peeta just wraps his arms around me even tighter. I drape one arm over his waist and press my face into his chest, reveling in his steadiness and warmth. I can’t believe I ever thought my life would be better without him in it. 

 

“Thank you,” I say suddenly.

 

“For what?”

 

How can I even begin to explain why I feel so thankful right now? I’m not sure I have the words to express exactly what I’m feeling or why I think I owe him my gratitude. Typical Katniss. So instead, I decide to tell him just a tiny part of the truth – just what I can manage right now – because even that small start is a step in the right direction. “For…giving me another chance. No one would’ve blamed you if you didn’t.”

 

“Well,” Peeta begins slowly, “I don’t think I would’ve forgiven myself if I didn’t.”

 

At his words, I feel tears well up in my eyes. I blink them back quickly before they have a chance to slip out. Today is _not_ a sad day. I’m determined to make this day meaningful. With any luck, it’ll be a fresh start for me and Peeta. “I love you so much,” I say softly, my voice betraying some of the emotion I’m feeling.

 

I can feel Peeta’s warm breath on the top of my head as he presses his lips there, gently. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that,” he murmurs into my hair. “I didn’t think you ever would.”

 

Knowing what I put him though makes me feel guilty, even if we ultimately did end up here. It’s unfair to Peeta that it took all that angst for me to fully realize and admit how I really felt about him. He deserved some kind of a beautiful moment, where we would have both had the presence of mind to know that we loved each other and been ecstatic to finally say it. I know I can’t change that, but I _can_ make sure that from here on out, he _always_ knows how I feel. That I really do love him.

 

“Just try and stop me now,” I say happily, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re going to get so tired of hearing me say it,” I tease.

 

Peeta swiftly grabs my hips and pulls me on top of him. He peppers my face and neck with kisses as I squirm in his arms, laughing. “That’s not possible,” he tells me in between kisses.

 

Good. Because I have every intention of never allowing him to doubt me again.

__________

 

I sit in Peeta’s small dining room, absently spreading cream cheese on my bagel. I smile at him as he walks in from the kitchen and places a steaming mug of green tea in front of me. We’re sitting next to each other at his table, deliberately very close – I don’t think either one of us wants to be separated this morning, even by a table.

 

For once, Peeta didn’t insist on cooking some kind of elaborate breakfast, and I’m perfectly okay with that. As much as I love his cooking, this morning I have other things on my mind. We need to talk, and the sooner the better as far as I’m concerned. It’s about time I start making up for all those conversations we _didn’t_ have before. 

 

All morning I’ve been mentally preparing, reminding myself of everything that I need to tell him. (I figure that Prim’s directive to me to _not_ prepare in advance no longer applies now that Peeta and I have reconciled.) But there are so many things I messed up that I hardly know where to begin. I guess I’ll just start talking and see what happens. 

 

I’m about to speak up when Peeta grabs my hand under the table and turns to me. “Katniss, I – ” he begins.

 

But I stop him mid-sentence. “Wait, Peeta,” I tell him. I’m worried he’s going to try to apologize or take the blame for something and I just don’t think I could handle hearing that right now. Especially since I know that the majority of the blame lies here, with me. “Can I, uh…can I say something first?”

 

He nods slowly and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

 

I take a deep breath and release it quickly. “I feel like I owe you an explanation,” I say.

 

“No, you don’t,” he insists, shaking his head vehemently. “It’s fine.”

 

That’s the Peeta I know: kind and forgiving to a fault. Of course I owe him an explanation – I mean, I just showed up unannounced at his front door, hundreds of miles from where I live, after breaking up with him over the phone and completely blowing him off when he wanted to see me. I feel horrible and I need to get some things off my chest.

 

“I think we both know we really need to talk,” I tell him earnestly, between bites of my bagel.

 

He concedes. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

 

“Okay…” I trail off, trying to decide where to begin. Might as well start with at the lowest point and work my way back up. “I think I should tell you why I broke up with you in the first place. Honestly…it was so much more than I told you on the phone that night.”

 

A pained expression crosses Peeta’s face as I remind him of the distraught phone call I made that evening. I’m sure he isn’t pleased to recall that memory. I don’t know what part of it exactly he’s most unhappy about – the fact that another man kissed me, or the actual breakup itself – but it doesn’t matter. We have to cover this territory, because the way I handled our breakup is something I’m incredibly ashamed about.

 

Still, I sympathize with him that we have to re-open these old wounds. I reach over and place my arms around his shoulders, nuzzling my face into his neck and placing a soft kiss on his skin. His arm moves instinctively to rub small circles on my upper back, and we rest like that for a moment before I move away to continue.

 

“So…what I said on the phone about the kiss was true. In case you doubted that,” I hasten to add. “I didn’t kiss him…I didn’t want him to kiss me. I never told you, but it was the same guy who told you I was a bitch that one evening. Do you remember that?”

 

Peeta’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding! God, if I run into that guy again…” he shakes his head, pursing his lips angrily.

 

“Yep, same guy,” I sigh. “Anyway, you probably already know this, but that kiss…well, it didn’t really have much to do with the breakup,” I admit. “I think I just used it as an excuse, honestly. I’d been feeling overwhelmed for so long…”

 

I have to stop for a moment and collect my thoughts. It hurts to admit my failings out loud. I’m so used to bottling up my emotions to avoid appearing weak, so having this conversation with Peeta goes against all my instincts. I hope he can forgive me for all this.

 

“You were feeling overwhelmed?” Peeta asks. “How?”

 

I shake my head as I try to explain. “It was just…so many things. Like, I hated talking on the phone because I never knew what to say. And I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I missed you so much whenever we were apart.”

 

Peeta thoughtfully takes a sip of his tea. “It wasn’t easy for me either, Katniss,” he tells me quietly.

 

I rub my hands roughly over my face. “I know! I mean, I’m sure you’re right, it just…it never seemed that way to me,” I say, raising my head and giving him a pleading look. “You seemed to handle everything so well. And then that _stupid_ kiss…I guess I just decided that it meant I wasn’t committed to you enough, and I used it as an out.”

 

Peeta turns to me with a disbelieving look on his face. “You wanted an _out_?” he whispers.

 

“Not…exactly,” I say slowly. It’s hard to express precisely how I was feeling at the time – my mental state was not the greatest when I broke up with him, and the only words I can find to describe my actions seem inadequate. “It wasn’t like I sat around trying to figure out how to break up with you. At the time, though, it seemed like a good idea. I really, truly thought I was doing us both a favor,” I attempt to explain.

 

Peeta sighs, placing his elbows on the table and dropping his chin into his hands. He stares at the wall in front of us as he tells me, “I was never unhappy, Katniss. I hope you know that.” Turning to face me, he adds sadly, “I’m sorry to hear you were.”

 

Placing my hands on either side of his face, I lean forward and touch my lips gently to his. I want to bring him back to the present and remind him that, despite everything we’re discussing, I’m here now. And I plan to stay. I hear him inhale shakily as I pull away.

 

“It makes me feel better to hear you say that. Um, that you were happy,” I try to reassure him. “I was never unhappy because of _you_ , Peeta, I just didn’t get it at the time. I understand now – I mean, I was miserable when we were broken up but I was too stupid to figure it out for the longest time.” My head falls backward and I exhale loudly as I stare at the ceiling. “I’m such an idiot! I feel like I wasted the last two months. I should’ve just told you how I was feeling.”

 

“No, Katniss,” Peeta says firmly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t blame yourself for everything. I knew we were having trouble but I never talked to you, either,” he points out. “I thought talking would make things worse.”

 

I laugh softly under my breath. Peeta was afraid of talking to me? The idea seems ludicrous – I can’t imagine how unstable he must have thought I was if he believed that just _talking_ would’ve scared me away. 

 

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t wrong about that.

 

“There’s plenty of blame to go around, I guess. And you know, I still worry that we won’t be able to do this again without me messing it up somehow,” I say sadly, looking away from Peeta. I feel tears welling up in my eyes and I blink furiously, trying to hold them back. 

 

Peeta places his hand gently on my shoulder and I hear him scoot his chair closer to mine. “We have to be serious if we want to make it work.” He leans forward, resting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around my waist. I put my hands over his where they rest against my stomach. He presses a kiss just under my ear before he continues. “But I think it’s worth it. Don’t you?”

 

I nod almost imperceptibly. “I love you, so…of course it’s worth it.”

 

Peeta’s arms tighten around my waist. I turn around and take his face in my hands, running my thumbs lightly over his cheeks before I move closer and kiss him deeply. After several minutes, we break apart and rest our foreheads together.

 

“Hey,” Peeta whispers. “I love you, too. So…let’s not try to figure everything out right now. We really only have a few hours before you have to go back. Let’s take some time to think. That way, when we talk, we can say everything we need to say.”

 

Peeta’s right, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s really always been the levelheaded one in our relationship. Even though a big part of me wants to rush and tell him a million things about what I did wrong and what I need to do better, I’m sure I’d miss something if I attempted to do that. (It’s funny how badly I want to talk to him now, given how hard I worked to avoid talking to him before…)

 

Getting our relationship back on the right track is going to take time. And as much as that annoys the part of me that likes to fix things and get immediate gratification for my actions, I know that we have to take this slow. We can’t just jump right back in and pick up where we left off. Even if neither of us ever admits it out loud, there’s a lot of damaged trust between the two of us. We have some rebuilding to do, I suppose.

 

I move away from Peeta slightly and give him a bright smile. He’s made me feel so optimistic that I can’t help but let my happiness show on my face. “Alright,” I agree. “Let’s just…take a break from all this talking for now. But what should we do then, until I have to leave?”

 

Peeta’s eyes light up. “I know!” he says excitedly. “Let’s go down and say hi to everyone at the bakery!”

 

After everything we’ve been through for the past day, I’m too emotionally exhausted to even attempt to hide the look of horror that crosses my face. Peeta doesn’t know about my run-in with Hugh at the bakery, and even though I suspect that Hugh will be happy with what happened, I’m just not ready to face him yet. I have no idea what his family thinks about me after what I did to Peeta. But I’m sure that it’ll take some time for them to forgive me.

 

I realize that I’m so stunned that I still haven’t responded to Peeta. But just as I open my mouth to try to find the right words to diplomatically decline, he starts laughing and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I’m kidding! I know that’s the last thing you probably want to do right now,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Besides, I need to talk to everyone first. Let’s just stay here and spend a few more hours alone while we can. How does that sound?” 

 

I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “That sounds perfect.”

__________

 

It’s been a week now. One week since I hopped on that plane and went to Chicago. One week since Peeta and I agreed to give this another try.

 

I reluctantly parted from Peeta at the end of my brief trip and came back home, sad to leave him behind but ready to start showing that I’m committed to staying close to him, even when we’re apart. One little thing I’ve been trying to do is talk to him every day, whether it’s a phone call or just a brief text message exchange. Even if I think it’s awkward. Even if I don’t have anything to say. Peeta lets me know how much he appreciates it, which makes it worth it.

 

We’ve been starting to explore our relationship problems in more detail, but not in the way I had expected. I guess I had always envisioned sitting down and having a long, emotional conversation where we lay everything out there and vow to change. And _then_ we move on. But I guess that’s not very realistic.

 

Rather than put a burden on ourselves to identify and solve all of our problems in one drawn-out exchange, we’ve been discussing them a little bit every time we talk. And we’re not forcing the conversations to happen – we’re simply talking about whatever comes up, and more importantly, we’re not avoiding any uncomfortable topics. This approach seems to be working out well for us. We’re making progress in working through our problems, but at the same time, we’re not making every single conversation we have focus on them, either. These aren’t light topics, after all; it would be exhausting to make them the center of attention all the time.

 

Plus, we _just_ got back together – we deserve a few minutes a day to enjoy each other. Before we get down to the very serious business of repairing our relationship, that is.

 

Our discussions have been interesting, to say the least. Really eye-opening for me, too. I’ve always considered myself the source of all the problems in our relationship. But Peeta’s been telling me a lot about the things he considers to be his own failures and his own contributions to our breakup. Honestly, I never thought he played any part in our problems before. I heaped all the blame on myself.

 

I’m starting to understand the role he played – or at least, the role he _thinks_ he played – in our relationship troubles. But I’m still having difficulty accepting the notion that he made any real contribution to our breakup. His problems just seem so trivial compared to my own. I think he wants me to feel better about things by making it seem like our problems come from both sides, rather than primarily from me. But I just don’t think that’s true. 

 

The one thing that he _has_ been able to convince me of is that our communication problems really do come from both of us. We’ve spent more time on this subject than any other. I recognize that throughout our entire relationship, I was so afraid of getting hurt that I withdrew from Peeta whenever we weren’t physically together. Peeta’s told me how obvious I was, how he noticed how differently I acted during our visits compared to our phone calls. He wanted to ask me about it, but he was afraid that would scare me away or cause me to withdraw even more. So we both made a lot of poor choices, and neither of us ever said what we needed to say to the other. Eventually that blew up in our faces.

 

Peeta’s admitted his frustrations with himself; specifically how he didn’t listen to the instincts that were constantly telling him that we needed to talk. Sometimes his fears erupted and led him to try to do _something_ , but it never came out quite right. Like the night in Miami when he called and texted me a bunch of times – it just made me feel suffocated and angry, but we didn’t talk about it. We both let things go unsaid even though it was obvious that they needed to be acknowledged. We let our separate anxieties just sit and fester inside of us. Peeta held back out of a fear of losing me, but that ended up happening anyway.

 

We’ve been forced to confront even seemingly-simple problems, like my reluctance to talk on the phone. Peeta’s tried to explain to me that talking on the phone makes him feel closer to me, that hearing my voice makes him feel better about the distance between us. I guess for me it was always the opposite – talking on the phone just reinforced how far apart we really were. Peeta’s calls and texts were just his way of showing me that he cared and that he was thinking of me. He was just doing what made sense to him, and I’m sure he would’ve liked it if I’d had the ability to return the favor.

 

I never did though, and it’s distressing to me to know how differently we perceived our phone conversations. He just wanted to have a few happy minutes with his girlfriend, and the entire time, all I could think about was how quickly I could get off the phone. Knowing how he feels about our phone calls has made me resolve to try to see them how he does. Or at least, to give him those happy moments, even if I don’t exactly feel the same. I’m working on it, I really am, but I’m not quite there yet. The phone calls don’t yet give me that same sense of comfort that they give him.

 

There’s another fact of life that I’m learning I can’t escape if I truly want to be in a relationship with Peeta – being apart _hurts_. Living hundreds of miles away from each other is _hard_. We’re going to miss each other; that’s normal and that’s okay. It’s not possible for me to find a way to stop missing him, so I shouldn’t try. And I shouldn’t punish Peeta for taking comfort in something as simple and uncomplicated as a phone call, if that’s what honestly makes him feel better. He’s doing the same thing I am – just trying to cope.

 

And then there are the money issues, the fact that Peeta can’t afford to keep buying plane tickets to come to DC every couple of weeks. There’s no easy solution for that, but I at least apologized to him for the over-the-top reaction I had when he told me about it. It wasn’t fair of me at all to blow up at him for something beyond his control. I’m learning to accept that I might not be able to see Peeta in-person as often as I’d like. We have to find new ways to navigate the distance between us, to figure out ways that we can be together even when we’re not physically in the same place. _Or_ I need to take on more of the travel burden myself if I want to see him. I make more money than he does, and our commitment to this relationship isn’t measured by how much money we each spend on plane tickets to see the other.

 

But I do honestly feel more optimistic this time around. I really think we’ll make something of this second chance we’ve been given. I have complete faith in Peeta, and I know that I’m going to try harder, so that’s a good start. Yes, we still have a lot to figure out – but I’m pretty sure we will. 

__________

 

In my eagerness to show Peeta that I’m committed to changing my past behaviors that led to so many problems in our relationship, I’ve been trying to get outside my comfort zone and reach out to him in ways that I was never willing to before. It doesn’t take much – I know how pleased he is to get even a text message or phone call from me. It’s so _easy_ , and it makes me feel selfish for not being willing to do this for him before.

 

Tonight I unexpectedly find myself at home alone. Given Prim’s crazy work schedule, it’s not unusual to end up by myself in the evenings, but right now I was scheduled to be on an airplane flying home from a business trip to St. Louis. But I managed to wrap up my work early, so I caught an earlier flight back. It’s the perfect time to call and surprise Peeta – he won’t be expecting it at all.

 

Flopping down on the couch, I grab my phone and impatiently search for Peeta’s name in my contacts. I place my call, but the phone just rings and rings with no answer. _Damn_. That’s the one problem with surprising Peeta from hundreds of miles away – I can’t actually be sure he’s available to talk. He’s been there every other time I’ve called, but I guess that won’t always be the case. He does have a life in Chicago, after all.

 

His phone goes to voice mail and I leave a short message. “Hey, it’s me. Call me back if you have time tonight, okay? Love you.”

 

Well, maybe I won’t get to talk to Peeta tonight, but at least he’ll know I called. I take my suitcase upstairs and change from my work clothes into yoga pants and a t-shirt. I order a pizza and settle onto the couch for a quiet evening catching up on the TV shows I missed during my trip. 

 

A few minutes pass, and I hear my phone ring. I pick it up to answer – it’s Peeta, of course. “Hey!” I greet him happily.

 

“Katniss!” he exclaims with worry in his voice. “What is it? Are you okay? Aren’t you supposed to be flying home tonight?”

 

I smile to myself. He still worries about me when I travel. The difference is that I no longer let myself feel offended by his concern – he doesn’t worry because he thinks I can’t handle myself, he just does it because he loves me. “Nothing’s wrong,” I reassure him. “I got home early and…I just wanted to hear your voice.”

 

I can hear him chuckle under his breath. “I love you, you know that?” he says in a low voice. I can practically _hear_ his smile.

 

“I love you too,” I say immediately in response. In the background, I can hear the faint sounds of talking and laughter. He must’ve called me while he was still out. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I apologize. “Where are you?”

 

“You didn’t interrupt,” he says quickly. “I’m at Ryan’s. He and Lydia are having a few people over for dinner.”

 

“A few people?” I tease. “I don’t even want to know how you Mellarks define ‘a few people’.” Peeta laughs. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it.”

 

“I’d much rather be with you right now,” he whispers.

 

“I know. Me, too,” I respond, before falling silent for a moment. “Well…I don’t have anything else to say to keep you from your dinner. Except to tell you I miss you,” I add hastily.

 

“I miss you too,” he tells me. I hear a shout in the background, but I can’t quite make out Peeta’s muffled response. He returns to the phone with a sigh. “Well, I guess I have to get back…” he says reluctantly.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” I reply sincerely. “I love you.”

 

“Thanks for calling, Katniss. Really. I love you too.”

 

“Bye, Peeta.”

 

As I put my phone away, I reflect on how far Peeta and I have come, and how hard we’re working to get ourselves back on track. I think we’ve made it through the most difficult times already, and I’m looking forward to seeing what’s to come.

 

 

 


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is a significant time jump from chapter 13 to 14. This takes place approximately 6 months later, in June.
> 
> Thanks to my beta sunfishdunes for all her help.
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr (soamazinghere). Leave a comment and let me know what you think! I always appreciate your feedback.
> 
> Only two chapters left after this one!!! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

“Katniss! Turn that thing off. I’m trying to watch TV,” Prim orders, never even looking in my direction. She’s lounging on the couch, staring intently at the screen as she balances a bowl of popcorn in her lap. My vacuuming is apparently interrupting her extremely important viewing of _The Walking Dead_.

 

I flip off the vacuum and let out an exasperated sigh. “I have to get this place cleaned up before Peeta comes. And it’s going to take me awhile since _no one_ is helping me,” I tell her pointedly.

 

She snorts, still not removing her eyes from the television. “He won’t notice, I promise.”

 

I shake my head but leave the vacuum cleaner turned off, surveying the living and dining rooms. To be honest, our place _is_ pretty clean, but I just want things to be perfect for Peeta’s visit.

 

For the first time ever, Peeta is coming to DC for an entire week. Thinking back over the busy past year of back-and-forth travel for both of us, I think that the longest time we’ve ever spent together was four days. But since he can’t afford plane tickets to visit me very often—he comes once a month at the most—Peeta suggested taking a longer trip to make up for it. I jumped at the chance, and we scheduled this trip as soon as we could find a week that worked for both of us.

 

We’ve been trying to think a bit more creatively about ways to be “together” over these past few months since we agreed to give our relationship another try. Even though we both prefer the times when we can be together in person, we know it’s not feasible for that to happen very frequently. Our goal is to see each other once a month, whether he comes to DC or I go to Chicago. So far, that’s working out for us.

 

And for the rest of the time…well, we’re still figuring it out. But we’re getting better at it. Obviously we spend a lot of time on the phone, sometimes to chat, or others times we might meet up for a “date” and watch TV or a movie together. (It’s surprisingly not as awkward as I thought it would be.) From time to time, we Skype so that we can actually see each other’s faces. We even send silly little gifts to one another for no particular reason. Basically, we do anything we can think of to make ourselves feel _close_.

 

I like to think that I’m getting used to this whole long-distance thing. I mean, it’s not ideal by any stretch of the imagination—I still miss him like crazy and have to fight against my self-protective urges to pull away—but I’m starting to feel like we’re making progress. That is, we’re actually succeeding in repairing our relationship, or maybe even making it stronger.

 

Sometimes, though, it’s still too much for me. I’m not ashamed to admit it. But if I reach the point where I miss Peeta too badly, and I’m about to break down and do something stupid, I just put myself on a plane to go see him. I’ve learned that missing him isn’t a weakness, and I’m not a lesser person for sometimes having my emotions overtake me. Thankfully, though, that doesn’t happen often. Peeta doesn’t mind, either; allowing him to see me in a vulnerable light has brought us closer together.

 

I walk over to the couch and flop down next to Prim, stealing a handful of her popcorn. She’s been really understanding about having Peeta invade our space for an entire week; I shouldn’t get annoyed with her for not spending all her free time cleaning.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay staying with Thresh?” I ask her.

 

She nods rapidly, chewing a mouthful of popcorn. “It’ll be fine,” she assures me. “He’s much closer to the hospital anyway. Besides, I really don’t want to be here during Peeta’s visit. The walls upstairs are _way_ too thin—”

 

“Okay, okay, enough!” I exclaim, playfully pushing her. “And that goes both ways since you’ve been bringing Thresh around. Peeta’s only here _maybe_ once a month,” I say, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

 

Prim’s been seeing her new boyfriend, Thresh, an oncology fellow at her hospital, for about four months now. He’s fantastic for her, although I have to admit I was surprised when I first met him. He’s practically her polar opposite in personality—quiet, serious, introverted—but then I remembered how different Peeta and I are. And somehow we work, so why can’t Prim and Thresh?

 

Prim blushes and abruptly changes the subject. “It’s your _one year anniversary_ , Katniss, can you believe it?” She shakes her head. “I know I can’t.”

 

“Well…” I respond hesitantly, “we were broken up for a while there…”

 

“Don’t be so technical about it!” Prim scoffs. “It’s been a year since you two found each other again in Chicago. I still can’t get over how romantic it was,” she sighs.

 

“I’ve never had an anniversary with anyone before,” I muse. 

 

“Well, you deserve it,” she affirms. “You two make the cutest couple. You can’t keep your hands off each other when you’re together—it’s so sweet!”

 

“It’s just because we don’t see each other very often,” I mumble, sinking down further into the couch. I still don’t like the idea of my little sister noticing anything about my physical relationship with Peeta.

 

Prim and I are silent for a few minutes, distracted by the television. “Effie’s been asking me how serious you two are,” she remarks nonchalantly, her eyes fixed on the screen.

 

I groan and clutch a throw pillow to my chest. “Me, too. It makes me uncomfortable,” I respond.

 

“Oh, it’s harmless,” Prim says dismissively. “She just wants to plan your wedding.”

 

I look at her in shock and Prim bursts out laughing. “That’s not funny,” I huff. “Maybe I should just distract her with some details about you and Thresh, hmm?”

 

Prim ignores my teasing and turns right back to talking about me. “She thinks you’re moving to Chicago.”

 

“I know!” I exclaim exasperatedly, letting my head fall back against the couch. I turn onto my side and look at Prim. “But I’m definitely not. She just doesn’t believe me when I tell her that.”

 

Prim turns to face me and gives me a curious look. “Really? You’ve never even _considered_ it?”

 

“Umm…I just…I haven’t thought that far ahead,” I say, feeling a bit awkward. “Peeta and I have had enough other stuff to deal with.”

 

“Fair enough,” she shrugs. “But you guys have spent, like, a year apart. That can’t be fun.”

 

“Trust me, I know. I’ve learned to deal with it though,” I reply honestly.

 

Prim stares at me for a moment, cocking her head to the side with a strange look on her face that I can’t quite read. Finally, she stands and stretches her arms over her head. “Anyway…I have an early day tomorrow. Gotta get to bed. Good night!”

 

“Night, Prim,” I call as she makes her way upstairs.

 

I turn back to the television, but find myself unable to pay attention, distracted by my thoughts about what Prim just said. I avoided her questioning, but the truth is, I have given _some_ thought to moving to Chicago. Or at least, I’ve considered what it might be like if Peeta and I lived closer together. No one wants to be in a long-distance relationship forever, right? So either the relationship itself has to end (and Peeta and I already tried that—it didn’t work) or the long-distance part has to end.

 

After almost a year, I feel reasonably certain that Peeta and I are committed to being together. I don’t see myself with anyone else in the future, and I feel more than ready to jettison the long-distance part of our relationship. But given what that would mean—one of us leaving behind our home, moving hundreds of miles to a new city—I want to be completely certain that it’s a step I’m ready to take. Actually, we _both_ need to be sure we’re ready, and we haven’t even talked about it yet. That has to happen before we make any impulsive decisions.

_________

 

Peeta’s arriving tomorrow, and I’m so eager to see him that I think I’ve already finished everything I need to get ready. Changed my sheets, cleaned the bathroom, went grocery shopping…I can’t think of anything else I need to do. I’m in the kitchen trying to decide whether I need to clean the floors— _will Peeta really mind?_ —when I hear my phone ring in the living room.

 

It’s probably Peeta, so I hurry across the room to pick it up. But I’m surprised and honestly a bit confused when I see Johanna’s name on the screen. She and I are good friends at work, but we don’t usually talk outside of the office.

 

“Hello?” I greet her, curious to find out why she’s calling me on a Sunday night.

 

“Hey, Everdeen,” she responds bluntly. “Have a minute?”

 

“Sure…” I offer hesitantly. “What’s up?”

 

“So I have some news,” she informs me, “and I wanted to make sure you know so you aren’t surprised when you come back to work next week.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“And don’t tell _anyone_ yet. If you do, Everdeen, I swear to god—”

 

“Geez, Jo, you haven’t even told me anything. I promise I won’t say a word,” I assure her, rolling my eyes.

 

“Alright.” She pauses for a moment and I hear her sigh on the other end of the phone. “I’m leaving D12. I’m telling Plutarch tomorrow.”

 

“What?” I breathe out, running my free hand over my face. I sink down onto the couch in shock. Plutarch’s going to be so traumatized by this. Jo’s one of the best employees he has. “Why?”

 

“It’s a long, boring story, but basically my mom’s health is taking a nosedive, and I need to move back to Minnesota. I’ve been talking to Plutarch about full-time telework, but he won’t do it. He says it’s important to be ‘part of the office,’” she recounts bitterly.

 

“That’s crazy!” I burst out. “We travel half the time anyway! Why does it matter so much?”

 

“I know,” she agrees. “He and I’ve been talking about this for _at least_ a month, but the idiot won’t budge. I don’t have a choice.”

 

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” I sputter disbelievingly. “He’s _got_ to back down when you tell him you’re resigning—right?”

 

“He’s living in the dark ages, Kat. D12 is going to lose so many good people with that kind of attitude…” Johanna continues ranting about her frustrations with Plutarch, but my mind inadvertently starts to wander. It hits me unexpectedly that this news has bigger implications for me than just losing a friend at work—all of a sudden, one of my options for being with Peeta is closed off. I can’t move to Chicago, even if I wanted to. If I want to keep my job, that is.

 

In the back of my mind, even though I haven’t allowed myself to very seriously entertain thoughts of Peeta and I living in the same place, I’d always assumed that I _could_ keep my job if I decided to leave DC. It was actually always a comforting thought. That if we felt we were ready, if we both wanted to make that leap, that we had at least one sure thing, one easy option.

 

Apparently I was naïve. I’m not sure I even want to leave DC—because let’s face it, that means leaving Prim and Effie, and I just don’t know if I could do that—but I feel inexplicably angry that this possibility has been taken away from me.

 

Soon I realize that Johanna’s gone silent on the other end of the phone, waiting for me to respond. I say something supportive yet vague, since I missed most of her tirade while I was thinking about my own situation. Thankfully it seems to satisfy her.

 

“Just keep this to yourself, okay?” she reminds me. “It’ll be common knowledge by the time you come back from your week off, though.”

 

“I will.” I pause for just a moment, feeling guilty that I let my own problems distract me from her news. “I’m gonna miss you, Jo,” I tell her sincerely.

 

“Well, I don’t want to leave either,” she says flatly. “Anyway, I gotta go. Let’s have lunch next week, okay?”

 

“Sure, of course. Bye, Jo.”

 

I hang up the phone, feeling drained and depressed. I’m really unhappy that Jo is moving away, and I’m sympathetic to her situation with her mom—but as much as I hate to admit it, it’s my own situation that’s weighing on my mind the most right now.

 

Why does this news bother me so much? Hearing news like this _should_ make me more unsure of my prospects of moving forward with Peeta, because usually I can’t help but focus on the details. To be together, one of us has to move. And now it sounds like it can’t be me, unless I want to give up my job, my security, and everything I’ve been working for all these years.

 

But it’s almost had the opposite effect, somehow crystallizing for me exactly how badly I want to end the long-distance part of my relationship with Peeta and find a way to be with him permanently. For most people, I’d imagine that big epiphanies like this happen when all the pieces are falling into the right places and everything’s making perfect sense. Not me; apparently I don’t figure things out until everything’s falling apart. Nothing makes sense right now, except for my growing certainty that this is a problem I need to fix.

__________

 

“You’re going to love this place, I promise,” I assure Peeta as we walk hand-in-hand down the street, away from my parked car. It’s a really sticky and hot night—even for June—so I rush him toward the restaurant, wanting to get inside as soon as possible.

 

“I’m sure I will,” Peeta tells me, pulling on my arm to slow me down. Apparently this kind of weather doesn’t faze him at all. At least, it doesn’t seem to turn his hair into a giant ball of frizz like mine will be soon if we don’t get inside. “But we didn’t need to do anything fancy,” he says as he slips his arm around my waist.

 

“I know, but I’ve been dying for an excuse to come back here,” I respond as we walk down the narrow alleyway and step inside the small restaurant. “And this is as good a reason as any.” I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck on the lips before we’re led to our table. Peeta looks over his shoulder at me, smiling and squeezing my fingers as we follow the host.

 

We take our seats and start looking over the menu. “Come here often?” Peeta asks without raising his head.

 

I laugh quietly as I consider my options. “No! Do you see these prices?”

 

“Right…” he muses. “Should I do five, seven, or nine courses?” he asks, looking up and cocking his eyebrow at me questioningly.

 

“Don’t do more than five,” I warn him. “It’s plenty of food.”

 

“But nine courses is only $30 more than five.”

 

“Just trust me,” I admonish him.

 

“Alright,” he nods, absently reaching across the table to grab my hand. I’m momentarily distracted by the feeling of him stroking his thumb back and forth over my skin as he continues reading. I can’t stop myself from staring at our joined hands, reveling in how content even this little touch makes me feel. But soon he breaks me out of my reverie. “I just don’t know how to choose,” he confesses.

 

I shrug. “Well…last time I let the chef choose my dishes. I think I might do that again.”

 

His eyes widen and he smirks at me. “Katniss Everdeen, giving up control? This is huge,” he teases.

 

“Not another word!” I tell him, pulling my hand away from his and crossing my arms over my chest in mock indignation.

 

He laughs softly, his deep blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, you’ve never steered me wrong before,” he says, leaning forward and winking at me. “I’ll do the same.”

 

Our waiter comes, and rather than allow him to spend several minutes explaining the menu, Peeta quickly orders for both of us. “Well, that was easy,” he remarks as the waiter leaves.

 

“Anything to get our food here faster,” I joke.

 

I’m silent for a moment as the waiter comes to bring the bottle of wine that we ordered. As soon as we’re alone again, I remember something I’ve wanted to ask Peeta all day. “So—tell me what you thought of Thresh!”

 

In all the months that Prim and Thresh have been dating, he and Peeta had never met. With Peeta being in DC so rarely, and with Thresh’s busy schedule seeing patients, the timing had never worked out. Until earlier today, that is, when we finally found a time that we could all meet. I know that Peeta’s become protective of Prim over the months we’ve been dating—almost like she’s his little sister—so I was dying to hear his opinion of her new boyfriend.

 

“I can’t believe I finally got to meet him,” he says. “He’s…intimidating.”

 

“Right?” I exclaim. “He left that same impression on me when we first met, but he’ll warm up to you. He doesn’t seem like Prim’s type at all, but they get along so well.” I laugh softly to myself and shake my head. “I’ve spent a lot of time as the third wheel when they hang out at home, so I feel like I’ve gotten to know him _pretty well_.”

 

Peeta smiles widely at the thought. “Well, I’m just glad I was finally here long enough to meet him.”

 

“Me too,” I agree. “You’ve been here _five whole nights_ , Peeta. This is a first for us. I can hardly believe it.”

 

He reaches across the table and slides his hands into mine, squeezing gently. The look on his face becomes regretful. “But I have to leave in two days,” he sighs. “I’m not looking forward to that. I’m just getting used to this.”

 

“This?”

 

“You know,” he replies slowly, thoughtfully. “This. Just…getting to see you all day long and be with you whenever I want.”

 

I look up at him, and it hurts me to see even the tiny bit of sadness that is undeniably present in his eyes. I know exactly how he feels. “Yeah…” I trail off, unable to bring myself to say anything that could make him feel better or minimize how he’s feeling. Since I can’t think of something positive to say, I resort to changing the subject. “By the way…happy ‘anniversary,’ or whatever we’re calling this.”

 

“Happy anniversary to you, too. I can hardly believe it,” he says, shaking his head.

 

“I know, it feels like it’s been _forever_ ,” I joke, falling back into my chair exaggeratedly. He rolls his eyes at me and I straighten up in my seat. “Seriously, Peeta, this has been the best year. For the most part,” I add with a slight chuckle.

 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, giving me an intense look that I can’t meet for long. “It really has been.”

 

We’re both silent for a few minutes. Neither of us wants this to be a sad evening—and it isn’t—but it’s hard to completely ignore the reality of our situation, as much as we might want to. Nights like these happen very rarely. This week together isn’t going to be repeated anytime soon.

 

Finally I break the silence. “I’ll be in Chicago in three weeks,” I say hopefully. That fact doesn’t really make me feel better, and from the look on his face, it doesn’t help him either. “We’ll survive, right?”

 

He pouts. “I guess so.”

 

“Oh, don’t do that,” I chide him. “I feel bad enough as is. And this is supposed to be a happy evening!”

 

“You’re right,” he tells me, making a visible effort to cheer himself up. “I just miss you so damn much when we’re apart.”

 

“Well,” I respond, gripping his fingers tightly and looking him straight in the eyes, “you’re not the only one.”

__________

 

I can’t sleep.

 

This in and of itself is a bit strange, given that Peeta’s lying in my bed right next to me. I usually sleep well when he’s here, but tonight I’m unsettled. He doesn’t seem to be, though—from the slow, regular sounds of his breathing, I can tell he’s sound asleep.

 

I keep my eyes closed and try to clear my mind of all the jumbled thoughts racing through it. I try to slow down my breathing to mimic Peeta’s. I try to focus on the warmth radiating from his body, on the way his arm drapes over my waist, on how I can just barely feel his breath tickling the back of my neck. None of it works, though. I just can’t shut my brain off.

 

Finally I give in and open my eyes, rolling carefully onto my back so that I don’t wake Peeta. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what exactly is wrong. I’ve been enjoying a wonderful week with Peeta, being able to spend virtually all day every day with him. Just the two of us. It’s been one of the best weeks I’ve had in a long time.

 

But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? As much as I miss Peeta whenever he’s in Chicago, and as much as I hate the fact that I can’t see him whenever I want, having him to myself for the first time for an extended period has _really_ underscored how badly I want some kind of a future with him that doesn’t involve the distance. Missing him is one thing, but having him here and seeing what things could be like if we really were together all the time? That’s something else entirely.

 

Okay, so I know that I’ve spent a lot of time with him in the past—we spend weekends together on a semi-regular basis—but I guess it’s only recently that I’ve really started to let myself think about our time together in a different way. That this isn’t how things always have to be. This is how they are now, but we can change it—if we want to.

 

I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to let him go.

 

As much as I try to be strong for Peeta and act like it doesn’t bother me _too much_ when we have to leave each other, that’s all it is—just an act. It’s not that I’m lying to him, but up until recently, I’ve never felt that there was any point in complaining about our situation too much. Accepting it made a lot more sense to me. Changing it never entered my mind.

 

We’ve been spending so much time recently trying to “perfect” our long-distance relationship (not that perfection is actually possible) that a part of me irrationally feels that all that effort would go to waste if we change things. But then I remind myself that nothing’s really meant to stay the same forever, and I’m feeling more and more certain that I’m ready for a change.

 

I shift slowly onto my side to face Peeta’s sleeping form. I try not to stare, but he looks so peaceful and somehow almost—I don’t know, _happy_? —when he sleeps, that I just can’t stop myself. Soon enough, though, a feeling that I’m invading his privacy by looking at him like this overtakes me, and I turn away and return to lying on my back.

 

What I wouldn’t give to be able to have him here like this every night.

 

Of course, Peeta and I haven’t even talked about the next step in our relationship—maybe we should’ve by now, but we haven’t—so I have no idea if we’re on the same page. Maybe we don’t even have the same view as to what our “next step” really is. I’m not sure if Peeta thinks he’s ready—or thinks we’re ready as a couple—to get more serious.

 

But I know that the only way for me to find out is to talk to him about it. And that makes me nervous for so many reasons. What if he says no? What if he’s not on the same page as me about moving forward? Could bringing this up ruin things between us? In typical Katniss fashion, I’ve already thought of a million reasons not to talk to him. The difference is, this time I’m going to ignore my doubts about the conversation, act like an adult, and do it anyway.

 

I don’t know whether this is really the right time to discuss this, but it’s probably as good a time as any. I’ve been thinking too much about our future, to the point where it’s really eating away at me. I know from previous experience that bottling this up will only lead to problems, and I don’t want to put Peeta through another emotional explosion.

 

All I know at this point is that whenever I think about my future, I always see him in it. And that has to mean something.

__________

 

It’s mid-afternoon on a Thursday, I’m wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt, and I’m walking around—slowly—on Capitol Hill. “I feel like a tourist,” I say nervously to Peeta, attempting to force him to walk faster, as if that’ll somehow make it obvious that I’m a local. “I’m never out at this time of day.”

 

“I _am_ a tourist!” he exclaims loudly, and I try to shush him, suddenly hyper-aware of all the _actual_ tourists walking around near us.

 

“No, you’re not,” I argue, smiling as he pulls me close to him and kisses my cheek. “You’re here visiting your girlfriend. Huge difference.”

 

“But I don’t live here,” Peeta points out as we walk hand-in-hand toward my street. Thankfully, the crowds of tourists start to thin out as we move further away from the Capitol and closer to the Eastern Market.

 

“Here’s how I look at it,” I explain, turning to him in mock seriousness. “A ‘tourist’ is someone who comes here to, maybe, see the Washington Monument or visit the Smithsonian. It’s all about _intent_ ,” I emphasize.

 

Peeta laughs and drops my hand in favor of sliding his arm around my waist. I lean on his shoulder and smile up at him. “I won’t argue,” he tells me playfully. “I see you’ve got this all figured out.”

 

We walk in a comfortable silence for a few blocks, content to enjoy just being together. Peeta’s leaving tomorrow, but neither one of us wants to ruin our mood today by mentioning that fact out loud. It’ll happen soon enough, no matter what we say or do. Before long, we reach my street and turn down it, strolling past the colorful rowhouses until we reach mine.

 

Peeta follows me up the steep staircase to my front door, standing patiently behind me as I sort through my purse to find my key. I’m glad he can’t see my face right now, because I’m working up the courage to tell him what’s been on my mind all week, and I’m pretty sure that anxiety is written all over it.

 

We walk inside and I sigh in relief as the air conditioning hits me. Peeta loops an arm quickly around my waist and kisses my neck, telling me that he’s going to the kitchen to get us some water. I settle onto the couch in the living room, leaning back into the cushions and closing my eyes. When Peeta returns with my water, I smile at him gratefully before eagerly swallowing nearly half the glass.

 

Carefully placing my cup on the coffee table, I turn to face Peeta. “So…I’ve been thinking,” I begin cautiously.

 

“About what?” Peeta asks, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me to rest at his side.

 

“About, um…us.”

 

I can feel Peeta stiffen at my side and slightly tighten his grip on me. I angle my head to look up at him and see that he’s trying his best to keep a look of alarm off his face. “It’s nothing bad,” I reassure him, reaching over to pull his free hand into both of mine. He relaxes somewhat at my words, but I’m still really nervous about what I’m going to say. “Just about…the future—our future, I guess.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Peeta says slowly, still clearly anxious about where I’m heading with this. “What about it?”

 

I gulp apprehensively. _Spit it out, Katniss_. “Well, we’ve been together for a year now. But…I don’t want to be long-distance forever.”

 

Peeta nods. “Yeah, me neither.”

 

Of course Peeta would say that. Of course he would agree that he doesn’t want us to be long-distance forever. But he has no idea that I actually want to _do_ something about it. And, as happens so often, my words fail me at the worst possible time. “Really? I just…don’t know what to do next,” I mumble.

 

He shrugs. “Obviously one of us has to move,” he says quickly, in a matter-of-fact tone. I furrow my brow and look up at him in shock. Did he really just say that? Is it really that simple to him? It almost sounds like he’s been thinking about this, too.

 

“Yeah, I…I realize that,” I stutter. “But I mean, like, how do we decide? You know, if we’re ready. And who would move? I just…” I trail off, shaking my head.

 

“One thing at a time, I think,” Peeta says thoughtfully, looking down at me with a slight smile. “Do _you_ think you’re ready for something like that? That’s really the first question to answer before we start talking about moving or stuff like that.”

 

Peeta’s gaze is a little too intense for me right now, so I turn my head and stare at the wall in front of me. “Well…I guess I’ve been feeling ready,” I muse. “That’s why I brought it up.”

 

“Okay, that was easy,” Peeta says teasingly.

 

I choose to ignore his joking. Suddenly I’m filled with an overwhelming urge to explain myself further, and I plunge forward even though I know that I’m unlikely to be able to express myself very articulately. “I just mean…I’ve been feeling like it’s time to take the next step. The constant goodbyes and the distance stuff is getting old. I’m so tired of it, you know? I miss you.” I drop my face into my hands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. It’s so hard.”

 

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Peeta says gently, removing my hands from my face and turning me toward him. He takes my head in his hands and softly touches his lips to mine. “You can tell me anything,” he murmurs as I drop my forehead to his shoulder.

 

“What about _you_?” I ask him, my voice muffled by his shirt. “How do you feel about…what I said?”

 

Peeta’s hand rubs my back reassuringly as I lean against him. “I’ve been thinking about it, too. Probably for longer than you have,” he admits.

 

I process this silently for a few moments. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I finally ask.

 

“I was just thinking about it. I wasn’t ready to talk,” he explains slowly.

 

“Are you ready now?” I ask shyly, lifting my eyes to meet his. “What do you think?”

 

“I think…” he begins tentatively, as if he’s searching for the right words. Abruptly he hugs me tightly to his chest before he continues more confidently. “I’m getting tired of spending most of our time apart. I’m tired of missing you all the time. I think it’s time for us to start seriously trying to figure out what to do next.”

 

I nod against his chest, returning his embrace. “Right. But do you really want to?”

 

“I do,” he affirms.

 

“You want to live… _with_ me?” I ask, trying to be absolutely certain that we’re talking about the same thing. I’m still not sure I quite believe it.

 

“No, I can live _near_ you. But I need my space,” he teases.

 

I awkwardly slap his arm without leaving his embrace. “No joking,” I warn him. “This is serious!”

 

Peeta laughs and tilts my chin up to him, leaning down to capture my mouth with his. This kiss almost feels like a celebration, like a promise of our future together. I’m feeling so giddy I’m surprised I’m even able to return the kiss—I can feel the smile trying to make its way across my face.

  
Eventually I pull away to catch my breath and we lean our foreheads together. “So…what do we do now?” I ask, panting slightly.

 

Peeta shrugs, slipping his hand into my hair and dragging my face back to his. “We need to talk, I guess,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Figure out exactly how to pull this off,” he tells me, before we lose ourselves in each other once again.

 

 


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I think it’ll be worth it, though, when you read it. Next chapter is the end of the story, and I promise I won’t make you wait as long for it!
> 
> As always, thanks for my fantastic beta sunfishdunes. Please come say hi on tumblr (soamazinghere), and let me know what you think in a message or comment. I love hearing from you!
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read from me so far, I want to let you know that I’ve already started work on a new multi-chapter Hunger Games fic that will begin publication in the near future. The new story is a collaborative effort between three authors, and we will all be listed as co-authors on AO3. I’m really excited about the new story, so I hope you’ll read it! More info and sneak peeks will be released on tumblr prior to publication.

It’s taking longer than I thought it would for us to figure this out.

 

Since Peeta and I agreed that we wanted to try to find a way for us to live together last month, we haven’t made much progress in getting closer to an answer. I’m struggling to figure out how we’re supposed to make this work, bringing together our two very different lives in different parts of the country. It’s not as if we’re two kids right out of college; we’re both 27 years old, and we’ve been settled in our hometowns and our careers for several years now. How do you just give that up?

 

In theory, it’s simple: one of us moves, end of story. But the reality is much more complicated, because it involves sacrifices I’m not sure we’re ready to make.

 

I visited Peeta in Chicago just a week ago, and we were both eager to talk about our situation. Well, “eager” may be putting it too strongly for me, but I was definitely _willing_ to talk, and I knew that we needed to. But I felt like we went around in circles rehashing the same issues without finding any solutions that would satisfy us both.

 

If I leave DC, I can’t keep my job. That’s a big deal to me. I haven’t talked to Plutarch directly about my situation, but I don’t have to. I don’t want to give him even the slightest inkling that I’m thinking of leaving. He let Johanna—his most talented employee—go without a second thought. I know he likes me and respects my work, but I don’t believe that I’m more valuable to him than Jo was. And besides, I’m not sure I’m ready to give up my job. I’ve worked really hard to get where I am.

 

And what about Aunt Effie and Prim? I don’t know if I’m ready to leave them either. Prim’s not only my sister, she’s also my closest friend, and aside from our college years, we’ve always lived near each other. Even in college, we were only a few hours’ driving distance apart. I know she’s grown, and she’s a doctor now, but...she’s still my little sister. And Effie’s practically lived for Prim and me since we were little girls; I’d feel like I was abandoning her if I moved away.

 

A part of me understands that I’m probably overstating my own importance in Effie’s and Prim’s lives, but it’s not just about how important I am to them. They’re important to me, too. And if I’m completely honest with myself...maybe I’m not sure how I’ll get by without them. They’re the only family I have. It’s a comfort to me knowing that they’re never far away.

 

And it’s not just me; Peeta has his own reasons for needing to stay in Chicago. He’s always planned to take over the bakery when his dad was ready to retire, and he’s spent practically his entire life preparing for that. Whenever I see him there, I know that’s where he’s supposed to be. The bakery is probably more his home than anywhere else. It’s so obvious how much it means to him, and how much he loves his work. I can’t imagine taking that away from him or letting him give that up.

 

I’ve also heard the stories about how Peeta left to go to college out west, only to end up back in Chicago again because he missed his family. In a way, I guess that’s similar to how I feel about leaving Effie and Prim, except I only have two people to think about and he has about two hundred. Wouldn’t he end up in the same situation again if he left his family for me? I don’t want him to resent me for taking him away from them.

 

But I’m not sure where this leaves us. We seem to have competing interests and I don’t want either of us to have to make a major sacrifice for the other. That seems like a bad way to start off a new phase of our relationship.

 

On the other hand, I’m not sure it’s possible for us to be together without any sacrifices. And besides, what’s our other option? Continuing our long distance relationship indefinitely? That isn’t what I want either. I want something more permanent with him, something where I can actually see him every day and always feel as content and happy as I am when we’re together.

 

I love him so much that it almost scares me; I’m not even sure I can adequately convey to him how I feel. I try—and I hope he knows—but I’ve never done this before. I don’t know if I’m doing it right.

 

I just wish this was easier, and that there was a clearer path for us to take.

__________

 

“Aunt Effie! This is your birthday. I told you, you are _not_ cooking!” Prim commands, shooing Effie away from where she was hovering over her shoulder. “If you don’t go sit down, I swear, I’ll get Katniss to cook.”

 

Effie chuckles at Prim’s threat and obediently makes her way back to the dining table where I’m sitting. Almost as an afterthought, she calls to Prim, “Be nice to your sister!”

 

I laugh quietly behind my mug of tea. It’s obvious how hard it is for Effie to stay seated and not take over the cooking from Prim. She’s craning her neck trying to see what Prim’s doing: if she’s putting the right ingredients into the batter, if she’s made sure to properly oil the waffle iron, if she’s using the right ladle to get just the _exact right amount_ of batter into the iron. It’s actually pretty funny to watch.

 

“Prim, don’t make idle threats,” I admonish her. “You know you’re not willing to risk burning down Effie’s house by asking _me_ to cook.”

 

“You’ve got me there, sis,” she admits, closing the waffle iron and turning on the timer. Prim leans on the counter and faces Effie and me while she waits for the first waffle to finish. When she sees Effie peering intently at the waffle iron, she scoots in front of it to block it from her view. “Effie,” she warns, raising her eyebrows.

 

“All right, dear,” Effie sighs, conceding reluctantly to Prim’s wishes. She looks around the kitchen, and in an attempt to distract herself from being usurped as head chef, she decides to torment me with personal questions. Not surprising in the least. She carefully spoons some sugar into her tea as she asks, “So, how are things with you and Peeta?”

 

I smile as I absently swirl the remains of the tea in my mug. “We’re doing really well. He’s been willing to keep me around, at least,” I joke.

 

Prim rolls her eyes and sighs. Just then, the timer beeps, so she turns around quickly and opens the waffle iron. “Perfect!” she enthuses, placing the steaming waffle on a plate. She walks over and presents it to Effie with a flourish.

 

Before she returns to her cooking, she stops and gives me an exasperated look. “You and Peeta are doing better than ‘really well.’ The poor guy is obviously head over heels in love with you.”

 

“Uhhh...okay,” I respond, blushing. Not that I doubt Peeta’s feelings for me in any way, I just get a little uncomfortable talking about my feelings. Or his feelings. Okay, feelings in general. Sometimes there’s no way to avoid it, but talking like that doesn’t come naturally to me.

 

“You two seem so happy together, dear,” Effie says, reaching over to pat my hand. “If only you got to see each other more...”

 

I bite my lip thoughtfully. “About that...” I begin hesitantly. “I do have some news. Well, maybe not ‘news,’ but at least something—” I lift my head and see Effie and Prim watching me expectantly, eyes wide. Prim is practically bouncing in anticipation. I raise my hands and shake my head rapidly, “It’s _not_ what you’re thinking.”

 

Both Prim and Effie visibly deflate, and Prim moves back to the counter to begin making another waffle. “So if I’m not getting married, you’re completely uninterested?” I ask. No response from either of them, so I continue. “As a matter of fact, Peeta and I are thinking about moving in together.”

 

“Ohmygosh,” Prim squeals, dropping the ladle into the bowl of batter and rushing to sit next to me. She takes a deep breath. “When?”

 

“Um, well,” I start, nervously wiping my hands on my lap, “we’re just talking about it right now. We don’t have any plans yet.”

 

“What do you mean?” Prim asks disbelievingly. “What do you need to decide?”

 

“Like, which one of us is going to move. Just little, unimportant details like that,” I tell her sarcastically.

 

Prim opens her mouth to speak again, but Effie silences her with a gentle hand on the arm. “This is exciting, Katniss. Are you and Peeta leaning toward one city or another?” she asks.

 

I groan and lean my chin into my hands. “We can’t decide,” I explain. “There’s stuff keeping both of us where we are. I mean, Peeta’s willing to move but—”

 

“Hold on. Hold on,” Prim repeats, interrupting me mid-sentence. “Let me see if I just heard you right. You said Peeta’s willing to move, but also that ‘we’ can’t decide? Um, what?” She looks at me skeptically, then walks to the counter to retrieve the next waffle.

 

“I don’t want him to give up his family’s bakery for me,” I tell her. “That’s not fair to him, is it?”

 

“And how does Peeta feel about that, dear?” Effie asks gently.

 

“Well...” I begin slowly, brushing my hand over imaginary wrinkles in the tablecloth. I’m having trouble thinking of a good answer to her question.

 

Prim walks over and unceremoniously dumps a plate in front of me. “ _He_ wants _her_ to let him move to DC already,” she says, responding to Effie’s question but giving me a challenging look.

 

My mouth drops open in disbelief. “What did he tell you?” I demand.

 

“Nothing,” Prim huffs. “But I know him and I know you. You two are easy to figure out.”

 

Effie purses her lips and looks at me thoughtfully. “Katniss, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. You and Peeta deserve to be happy together.”

 

“I know,” I say, attempting to explain myself. “But...there’s no rush. We’re both fine with the way things are now.”

 

“ _Fine_? Really?” Prim asks. It’s obvious from the tone of her voice that she doesn't believe me for a second. And maybe I was stretching the truth a bit.

 

“Okay, we _tolerate_ it,” I admit. “I’m just trying to say that we have time to figure it out, and make sure we can have what we want.”

 

“And I’ll need to find a new place to live, too,” Prim says pointedly.

 

I hadn’t even thought about that. One more thing to add to the list. “Only _if_ he came to DC,” I say guiltily, “and even then you can still stay—”

 

Prim cuts me off abruptly. “Sorry, I was kidding...I shouldn’t have said anything.” She groans and flops down into the chair next to me. She puts her hands on my shoulders, saying, “Please don’t think about _me_ when you try to figure this out. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

 

The timer beeps again and Prim shoots across the kitchen to grab her waffle. She drops it onto a plate and brings it to the table, slathering it with maple syrup. As she pours, she tells me, “No offense, but I don’t want to be roomies with you and Peeta. That’s weird.”

 

Effie shushes Prim and turns to me as she finishes her breakfast. “Katniss dear, just remember that Peeta makes you happy and you make him happy. It’s worth doing whatever you can to try to keep that.”

 

I nod slowly, staring at the wall in front of me. Effie’s right of course, and our entire conversation this morning—saying all these things out loud—really makes me feel like I might be overthinking things. Or that I’m making problems where there really are none. I just don’t know how to shut off my tendencies to over-analyze and try to achieve perfection. This just feels too important.

__________

 

I’m trying my best to get comfy on the sofa. Peeta and I are having a phone date tonight, watching _When Harry Met Sally_ , one of my all-time favorite movies. Every time we do this, I spend at least five minutes trying to find just the right position to sit. Peeta spends those same five minutes wondering why I didn’t figure this out _before_ I called him. I’m holding my phone between my ear and shoulder as I squirm around, and I can hear Peeta’s exasperated sigh.

 

“Come _on_ , Katniss. This again?”

 

“Just a minute!”

 

I lie down on my back and decide that I have a pretty good view of the TV from this position. Very carefully, I balance the phone precariously on my chest. I _should_ be able to hear and talk to Peeta from this distance, but the phone will only stay put if I stay perfectly still. “This is ridiculous, Peeta,” I whine. “I need a headset or something. I don’t want to have the hold the phone to my ear for the next two hours.”

 

“You’re just going to have to deal with it,” he says. “You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

 

“Fine,” I relent. As I shift onto my side, the phone slides off my chest and onto the floor. I heave an exasperated sigh, and as I reach to pick it up and look for damage, I can hear Peeta talking. “I can’t hear you! You fell on the floor,” I say loudly as I return the phone to its previous position on my sternum.

 

“Just pick up the damn phone, Katniss. You’re going to have to hold it.” I can tell that Peeta is practically shouting now to make sure I hear him.

 

I look around the room for some other ingenious solution that won’t involve me holding the phone for the entire movie, but I can’t think of anything, so I reluctantly place the phone to my ear. “Is this better?” I grumble.

 

“Yes! What’s the point of this if we can’t talk to each other, anyway?” Peeta asks.

 

“Okay, okay,” I mutter. “Are you ready to get started?”

 

“Um...no. Hold on just a minute.” I can hear Peeta set the phone down and run across the room. Then I faintly register the clanging of glass and the sound of his refrigerator door slamming shut. Soon enough, he’s back. “Ready now,” he informs me.

 

“Alright. I’ll count down so we can hit play at the _same time_ ,” I instruct him. “3...2...1...go!”

 

As the movie starts, we’re both silent for several minutes as we watch. I’ve seen this a million times—so many that I can practically recite the lines of dialogue. When Peeta told me he’d never seen it, I was stunned and insisted that we watch it for our next date.

 

I finally break our silence early in the movie, during Harry and Sally’s road trip to New York. “Do you like it so far?”

 

“It’s only been ten minutes,” Peeta says distractedly. “I’m sure I will.”

 

He falls silent again at that point, and I know that he wants me to do the same. Peeta and I have somewhat of a role reversal when we watch movies together—he wants to stay quiet and focus on the movie, and I often talk as I watch. It’s what I’ve always done—Prim and I chit-chat our way through every movie we see (at home, anyway), laughing and sharing our reactions. Peeta, however, does not seem to appreciate my commentary.

 

I manage to stay quiet for a few more minutes, for Peeta’s sake, before I can’t resist speaking up again. “Peeta! I almost forgot—I saw something on the metro today that made me think of you…”

 

“Can you tell me later?” he grumbles. “We’re right in the middle of our movie.”

 

“Sorry,” I huff, crossing my free arm over my chest. “I just remembered it.”

 

I can hear Peeta sigh on the other end of the phone. “Do you want to talk instead of watching the movie?” he asks.

 

“No, no,” I insist stubbornly, “let’s keep watching.”

 

I try my hardest. I make it about halfway through the movie, to the point where Harry and Sally have finally agreed to be friends and have dinner together. But soon enough, I find my mind wandering. I’ve moved from lying down to sitting up, my feet tapping impatiently on the floor. Maybe I’d really rather talk after all.

 

“Peeta, what are we going to do?” I ask suddenly.

 

He’s silent for a few moments, maybe still engrossed in the movie. Finally, he mutters, “Huh?”

 

I let out a long sigh. “I still don’t know if I can move away from DC.” I guess this topic’s been weighing on my mind more than I even realized. I certainly didn’t plan to interrupt our date tonight to have this discussion.

 

“Hold on a second,” Peeta tells me. The faint sounds that I heard coming from his television stop abruptly. “I just paused the movie.” I fumble around the coffee table until I find my remote, and I do the same.

 

“I’ve told you I’ll move to DC, Katniss. It’s that simple,” he says.

 

“But it’s not!” I exclaim. “You’d be leaving behind so much. I’d feel guilty about that.”

 

“Well, you shouldn’t,” he explains matter-of-factly, “because it’d be my choice. Just let me do this for you. You can keep your job, and I’ll figure something out.”

 

“What about the bakery?” I remind him. “I know that’s what you’ve always planned to do.”

 

“We’ve been over this a million times,” he says wearily. “It’s fine. And besides, just because I move to DC now doesn’t mean we could never move back to Chicago.”

 

“You wouldn’t have a job here,” I point out.

 

“So? You make plenty of money,” he says jokingly.

 

I purse my lips in annoyance. I don’t know how he can make light of this. “Be serious! You’d want a job.”

 

“I’d just have to find one there,” he responds quickly. “It’s not rocket science, Katniss. People do this sort of thing all the time. We can’t make everything about this 100% perfect.”

 

“But we can’t make this decision lightly—”

 

“And we’re not,” he interrupts me. “We wouldn’t be.”

 

“Listening to you, it sounds like everything’s so simple!” I burst out in frustration. “It isn’t.”

 

“Katniss, please don’t get upset,” Peeta says calmly. He pauses for a moment. “Listen…why don’t we just go back to watching our movie for now? We’ll see each other in a week, and we can talk then and _really_ figure this out. Can we do that?” he pleads.

 

I slowly release a deep breath that I hadn’t even realized I was holding. “Okay,” I concede softly.

 

“Alright. But remember,” he warns me, “I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m going to make sure we really have this conversation. No getting out of it, okay?”

 

I nod. “We should. We will.” I look up at the TV and grab my remote to turn the movie back on. “Let’s get back to our date, shall we?”

__________

 

“Peeta…Peeta, stop,” I say weakly, halfheartedly trying to push him away from me. But it’s hard to protest what he’s doing—his lips moving hungrily down my neck, his arms pulling my body flush with his—because it just feels so good. “We have to keep getting ready.”

I’d just gotten out of the shower and managed to get about halfway dressed when Peeta distracted me. For this exact reason, we usually try not to make plans on the day one of us arrives for a visit. We generally have other priorities when we haven’t seen each other for weeks. But tonight we have an obligation that we can’t avoid.

 

Peeta moves back up to my mouth, cupping my face in his hands as he kisses me almost frantically. “Do we have to?” he murmurs against my lips.

 

“Well,” I pant, “maybe we can take a few minutes…”

 

Those words are all Peeta needs to hear to mold our mouths back together so perfectly that I almost forget why I was protesting this in the first place. As he slows and deepens our kiss, his hands move from my face to my shoulders, and then continue sliding down. One arm curls around my waist as the other hand gently kneads my breast. Without thinking, I catch my fingers in his belt loops and pull him toward me, trying to bring us as close together as physically possible. As our lips and tongues continue moving together seamlessly, one kiss melting into the next, I notice Peeta slowly backing me toward his bed.

 

I reluctantly force myself to pull back slightly, breathing heavily and shaking my head. “No, Peeta, we don’t have time for that,” I whisper. He stops moving and leans his head against my shoulder; I can feel him nodding in agreement.

 

“Come on,” I prod, kissing him softly on the cheek as he finally lifts his head. “We really have to get ready to go. This dinner is for your brother, remember?”

 

The entire reason I came to Chicago this weekend—well, maybe not the _entire_ reason, but an important one—is to attend Peeta’s brother’s wedding. Tonight, Peeta’s dad is hosting a small dinner for Ryan and Lydia, and we have to be there in less than an hour.

 

This dinner will help ease me into the chaotic festivities of the weekend to come. When I say the dinner is small, I mean _actually_ small, not just Mellark small. Peeta’s dad wants to have one evening with just his sons and Lydia. And he was nice enough to include me as well. I think I can handle tonight’s dinner without any problems. It’s the rest of the weekend—with who knows how many hundreds of family and friends in attendance—that will be a test to my sanity.

 

“I can see Ryan anytime,” Peeta whines as he walks to his closet to pick out a shirt. “But I haven’t seen you for _weeks_.”

 

“I know,” I sympathize, walking behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist. “I’d rather spend the evening alone together, too. But I came here for the wedding—we can’t miss the festivities.” I press a quick kiss onto his shoulder as I walk to my suitcase and rifle through it, looking for one of the dresses I packed.

 

Peeta chuckles softly to himself. “I thought you came to see me,” he says as he glances over his shoulder in my direction and raises his eyebrows. “And the wedding was just an excuse.”

 

“Maybe,” I shrug, giving him a coy smile. “But,” I add, pulling my dress over my head, “I don’t need any excuses to see you.”

 

“We’re just not going to get much time alone this weekend,” Peeta sighs.

 

The real “fun” begins after tonight’s dinner—the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, the wedding itself Sunday, and lots of preparations in between. Most of the Mellarks (including Peeta, as much as he might prefer to spend time with me) absolutely love these types of events. They get to spend days and days together, and even see the relatives who’ve moved away from Chicago. I’m less enthusiastic, but Peeta’s told me that he’ll understand if I need to run away for a few minutes to be alone and escape the Mellark onslaught.

 

“Yeah, that kinda sucks,” I agree. “We’ll be so exhausted we’ll have just enough time to get back here and sleep. But…this weekend is about your brother, not us.”

 

“Are you sure we can’t be just a _little_ late tonight?” Peeta asks, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning his forehead against mine.

 

“Your dad won’t be too happy,” I remind him, reaching my hand to his cheek. “And your brothers will probably think I’m deliberately trying to keep you away.”

 

Peeta pulls back and shakes his head, giving me a serious look. “Katniss, I swear, my brothers aren’t still suspicious of you.”

 

I smile at him and wriggle out of his arms, looking around the room for my shoes. I know that his brothers have forgiven me for breaking up with Peeta, but it took a long time for me to regain his family’s trust. It wasn’t so much of an issue with his dad; he may have had his qualms about me, but I wouldn’t know because he never outwardly questioned Peeta’s decision to take me back. His brothers on the other hand…well, they’re protective of Peeta. He’s the youngest of the three, and I hurt him badly. We had some awkward times in the beginning, but I feel like we’re almost back to the easy relationship we had prior to the breakup.

 

“It’s fine, Peeta,” I assure him, sitting on the bed to slip on my shoes. “Besides, I deserved whatever I got from them.”

 

Peeta flops down next to me and slides his arm around my shoulders. “Nope, you’re not saying that. Can we move on to something more pleasant, like maybe what we were doing before?” he asks, nuzzling his head into my neck.

 

My eyes close involuntarily and I sigh, lost in the impossibly good feeling of his lips against my skin. But I fight my way back to reality and glance at the clock on Peeta’s bedside table. I nudge him softly. “Peeta, look at the time. We have to make sure we’re ready to go.” He purposely ignores me and continues kissing his way down my neck. “Please?” I ask softly. “I just want to stay on everyone’s good side, okay?”

 

He raises his head and looks into my eyes. I try my best to give him a serious look, and I think I succeed in convincing him. He presses his lips to mine quickly and stands, putting out his hand to help me up. “Alright,” he reluctantly agrees. “But you don’t have to try so hard. They love you as much as I do.”

 

“Well, then,” I tell him playfully as we stride hand-in-hand toward the front door, “let’s just try to keep it that way.”

__________

 

So, the “having no alone time with Peeta” part of my weekend has officially begun. Not only are we not alone together, but right now Peeta’s not even here. He and his brother Hugh had to go take care of some kind of surprise they planned for the rehearsal dinner tonight. Peeta wouldn’t even tell me what it was. To keep me occupied while he’s out, Peeta dropped me off at his dad’s house this morning to have breakfast with his dad and Ryan.

 

When Peeta and I first got back together a few months ago, I would never have agreed to be alone with any of his family members. Things were pretty tense between us back then, and I spent a lot of time worrying about what things they might say to me if they had the chance. I definitely would’ve deserved whatever they said, but that doesn’t mean that I would willingly subject myself to it. Thankfully, Peeta intervened until things settled down between all of us. He tried to remind them that our breakup was a two-way street, that it wasn’t entirely my fault. They never quite accepted that, though. (I can’t blame them for that, really; I don’t think I’ve ever accepted it either.) Peeta’s part of their family, so naturally they trusted him more than me.

 

In the beginning, his brothers only grudgingly tolerated my presence, and although there’s never been a real “breakthrough” moment for us, I would say that things have significantly thawed. I don’t really know why—whether Peeta convinced them that I wasn’t a bad person, or if their anger just faded with time—but either way, we’re all friendly again. To my face, at least, they treat me just like they used to. If they still distrust me, they don’t make it obvious. So now I feel much more comfortable in social situations, like this one, with Peeta’s family.

 

The most awkward thing about the situation right now is watching Ryan cook for _me_ during _his_ wedding weekend. I’m leaning against the kitchen counter drinking a glass of orange juice (fresh-squeezed, of course), watching Ryan make scrambled eggs while his dad pulls some fruit pastries out of the oven. Everything smells absolutely delicious.

 

I turn to Ryan guiltily and tell him. “I feel bad. You shouldn’t be cooking!”

 

“No worries, Katniss,” he says, dumping the eggs into a serving dish. “This is relaxing. The weekend’s going to be stressful enough; I’ll take a break whenever I can.”

 

I laugh disbelievingly as I carry plates and silverware to the kitchen table. “I still don’t get it. Cooking is definitely _not_ relaxing. For me, anyway.”

 

“But you benefit from it, right?” Ryan teases.

 

“From having people _other than me_ enjoy cooking? That is true,” I concede.

  
Peeta’s dad places a basket full of fresh, hot pastries onto the table. “It’s what happens when you grow up in the kitchen,” he explains. “At least, that’s why _I_ find cooking relaxing.”

  
“Well, I definitely didn’t grow up in the kitchen. I was never interested,” I respond.

  
The three of us sit silently for several minutes, filling up our plates and enjoying our breakfast. The only sounds are the clanging of forks on plates until I break the silence with a question. “So, Ryan, you think this is going to be a stressful weekend? Aren’t you excited?”

  
“Excited to get married, yes,” he answers me in between bites of his pastry. “But there’s just so much going on. Honestly, Lydia isn’t thrilled with how many people are coming and how many parties we’ve had to go to. She wanted to do something smaller, but,” he shrugs, “it’s just not possible with our family. Just wait until it’s you and Peeta’s turn,” he warns me. I roll my eyes in response. No way would I ever let myself have a wedding like this one.

 

Peeta’s dad chuckles and admonishes his son, “Don’t try to scare her off, Ryan!”

 

“Well, let’s talk about something else besides the wedding then, okay?” Ryan asks. “What about you and Peeta?” he says, turning toward me. “You guys still trying to move in together?”

 

I place my fork on the table and sigh. “Yeah...we just can’t decide who should move.”

 

“Peeta seems willing, from what he’s told me,” his dad offers. “You don’t want him to?”

 

“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “It’s just that I don’t want him to give up something that he really wants, just to be with me.”

 

“He wants _you_ ,” Ryan says pointedly. “But what exactly are you talking about, the bakery?”

 

“Of course I’m talking about the bakery.”

 

“Um, Katniss,” Ryan begins hesitantly, “you do realize that Peeta likes you better than the bakery, right?”

 

I open my mouth to speak, but I’m interrupted by Peeta’s dad. “Ryan, stop,” he warns. Turning to me, he continues, “Katniss, Peeta’s just happier when you’re around. I can’t quite explain it, but it’s like he’s...more alive, somehow. I can see why he’d want that all the time. But if you don’t, you should tell him, because—”

 

“No, I do want that, I do,” I try to reassure him. “I just don’t want him to resent me for making him give up the bakery.”

 

“The bakery will still be here,” Peeta’s dad points out.

 

Ryan chimes in, “Yeah, god knows Hugh and I don’t want it.”

 

I’m quiet for a moment. “Peeta’s been telling me the same thing,” I admit softly.

 

“Well, you should listen to him,” his dad advises me. “He’d never resent you. And you really never know where life will take you, so don’t think that making a decision now means that things will never change for you and Peeta.”

 

I bite my lip and stare out the large bay window into the backyard.  “It’s just hard for me to think that far ahead,” I confess.

 

“It sounds like you’re already thinking ahead,” his dad points out. “You’re worried about the future because you’re assuming things will always be like they are right now. Or that whatever you decide is going to set you down some irreversible path.”

 

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, not wanting to acknowledge the truth in what he just said. Thankfully, Ryan saves me from any obligation to respond by speaking up. “Trust me, Katniss, you should just do what’ll make you happy. Don’t overthink it.” I give him a skeptical look. “I know that doesn’t sound very helpful, but I’m about to get married so I feel entitled to dole out relationship advice.”

 

I smile widely at Ryan’s words. “Thanks...I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him.

__________

  
I’m laughing so hard I can barely stand as Peeta leads me back to his apartment. I’m uncharacteristically giggly tonight, possibly from the euphoria of surviving the first of the Mellark wedding weekend events. Peeta steadies me with an arm around my waist and presses a kiss to my temple.

 

“I still can’t believe _that_ was your surprise,” I sputter, grasping at his arm. “Oh my god!”

 

“You didn’t even see it,” Peeta says indignantly as he unlocks his front door. He stands back and ushers me inside, closing the door behind us. “I looked at you, but you were covering your eyes!”

 

“I peeked through my fingers!” I protest. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t watch, but I was just feeling embarrassment on your behalf.” I cover my mouth with my hands as I start laughing again at the memory.

 

Peeta walks over and loops his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “You don’t like my dancing?” he teases.

 

“I’ve never seen you dance before,” I remind him, resting my hands on his shoulders. “You’re, um, really…good,” I tell him with as much seriousness as I can muster, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into laughter yet again.

 

“Well,” he says, leaning down and giving me a quick peck on the cheek, “thankfully I wasn’t trying to impress you.”

 

“I _am_ impressed! I’d never have the guts to do that,” I tell him truthfully. “You and Hugh looked like you were having fun. And your little dance number was definitely unexpected at a rehearsal dinner.”

 

Pulling myself out of his grasp, I walk into Peeta’s bathroom and brush my teeth. I can hear Peeta flop down on the couch and start flipping through channels on the TV. “Your brother and Lydia seem so ready to get married,” I call to him. “It’s sweet.”

 

“Yeah, we all knew she was the right one for him, practically from the start,” he responds.

 

I make my way into the bedroom, taking off my dress and exchanging it for some comfortable pajamas. I slip into bed and lie down, letting out a deep breath. I didn’t have an unpleasant time tonight, but as is always the case for me with Mellark family gatherings, it was overwhelming. And I’m exhausted. Peeta turns off the TV and joins me in the bedroom, sitting on the bed to change his clothes.

 

“Why’d they wait so long to get married?” I ask.

 

Peeta shrugs as he unbuttons his shirt. “Not sure. Did you know they’re moving in together for the first time after the wedding?”

 

I lift my head and look at him incredulously. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, I know. And it’s been six years,” he says. After slipping a worn t-shirt over his head and removing his pants in favor of boxers, he makes his way into the bathroom. I hear the water running from the faucet and the sounds of him brushing his teeth.

 

“So getting married got them to finally move in together,” I muse. “Maybe that’s what we need to do. All our problems would be solved,” I say jokingly. The sounds of toothbrushing pause for several seconds, and I feel absolutely mortified at what I just said. I swear, sometimes the words that come out of my mouth are completely out of my control. What’s Peeta thinking right now?

 

As I hear him resume brushing his teeth, I decide that he probably didn’t even notice. He’s certainly not about to freak out on me for talking about marriage. He’s not like that anyway, right? I roll onto my side, curling my arm under the pillow, and try to forget what I just said. A few minutes later, I feel Peeta settle into bed beside me.

 

“I’ve thought about that, you know,” he mentions casually.

 

“Thought about what?”

 

“Getting married. Us,” he answers.

 

I roll over to face Peeta and narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking. He looks completely sincere. “Why, so we’re forced to move in together?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, even though my heart started racing for some reason after hearing what he just said.

 

“I don’t think that’s actually a legal requirement of marriage,” he says in an amused tone. His face turns serious as he continues. “No, but…because I want to marry you. Have you ever thought about it?”

 

Shifting onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Finally I shake my head and answer, “Honestly? No, but it’s not you. I’ve never thought about marriage with anyone.”

 

“I’ve never thought about it with anyone else,” he replies, settling back into the pillows and watching me carefully.

 

“I’ve just been focused on other things, like school and my career…and Prim…” I trail off.

 

Peeta nods in understanding. “Sure, I get it.”

 

I wriggle into a sitting position and scoot closer to him. He slips an arm easily around my shoulders. “It’s a big deal to me that we’re even thinking of moving in together,” I tell him, resting my head against his chest.

 

He moves his free hand to my head and gently strokes my hair. “I’d be happy with just that, or with whatever you want, Katniss. But…I’ve always thought I’d get married someday. And I don’t see myself with anyone else in the future, so…” He leaves the rest of his thought unspoken.

 

As much as I understand what he’s saying, I’ve honestly never thought of it that way. I wasn’t kidding when I said I never considered marriage before. It’s just never entered my mind. I don’t know why that is, though. But now that I’m with Peeta, I guess that could change.

 

I take a deep breath. “I don’t see myself with anyone but you either. That’s why I want us to move in together.”

 

“Have you ever thought about the future? Our future?” he asks softly.

 

I let out a tiny half-laugh, half-sigh. “Beyond living together? Clearly not,” I admit.

 

He nods and presses a kiss into the top of my head. “That’s fine. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

We sit silently for several minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms. As peaceful as I may appear externally, my mind is racing. It’s true that I’ve never really given much thought to marriage, but I don’t have anything against it. And it sounds like Peeta and I have similar feelings for each other—that we’ve found the person we want to be committed to in the long-term—but our feelings led us to different places. I thought of living together. Peeta thought of marriage.

 

But our separate conclusions really are pretty similar. What would be different about our lives if we were married or just living together? Probably very little. There’s really nothing to be afraid of.

 

I hesitantly break our contented silence, knowing that Peeta thought our conversation had ended. “You’re not making me uncomfortable, Peeta.” I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. “If I was going to marry anyone, I’d want it to be you.”

 

“Me too,” he agrees with certainty.

 

So what’s stopping us? We both said we want it. We’ve already been preparing for the next big step in our relationship. It’s true that we haven’t yet even figured out how we’re going to live together, but does that preclude this?

 

“We should do it,” I blurt out.

 

“Do what?”

 

I lift my head and look him directly in the eye so he knows I’m serious. “Get married.”

 

He runs his hand through his hair and exhales deeply. “Um…”

 

“Don’t you want to?” I ask him.

 

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “It’s just…well, I hoped I’d get to ask you someday.”

 

“You still can,” I remind him. “Just ask me today.”

 

“Like, right now?” He looks around his bedroom, with my open suitcase spilling its contents on the floor, his clothes tossed haphazardly near the bed, us in our pajamas. “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned it.”

 

I sit on my knees next to him and grab his hand excitedly. I’m not sure what’s come over me, but I feel an overwhelming certainty that I want him to do this. “It’s fine,” I assure him. “It’s just you and me here anyway.”

 

“Of course it’s just us,” he says. He furrows his brow and looks at the ceiling for a long minute. He finally lowers his head and clears his throat. “Okay. Do you want me to make a speech?”

 

“You’ve made enough speeches for one day, I think.”

 

“Okay.” Peeta exhales nervously and takes both of my hands in his. I can’t fight the smile spreading across my face. “Katniss…I love you. Will you marry me?”

 

“Yes!” I answer immediately. But after that, neither of us can figure out quite how to react. We just stare at each other with stunned smiles on our faces, unable to fully comprehend what just happened. Finally Peeta regains his senses and yanks me toward him, planting a shaky kiss on my lips.

 

He leans back slightly, holding my face in his hands and shaking his head in disbelief. “I…I don’t have a ring or anything,” he apologizes. “We’ll have to shop.”

 

I laugh giddily and slide my hands up to grasp his elbows. “Some other time,” I tell him. “It’s really not important. Besides, this is your brother’s weekend—we have to keep this to ourselves for now.”

 

I lean my forehead against his and realize that I need to take a few moments to catch my breath. “What did we just do?” I ask slowly.

 

“I think we just got engaged,” Peeta answers me. He collapses back against his pillows, pulling me with him. “Whoa.”

 

I think he’s right. And this was the last thing I expected to happen this weekend. Or anytime soon, for that matter. But lying here with Peeta, at home in his arms, I don’t doubt our decision for a minute. I know exactly where I’m supposed to be—with him.

  
As for the rest...we’ll figure it out soon.

 


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me through this entire story! I can’t believe this is the last chapter, but I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know with a comment.
> 
> I want to thank sunfishdunes so much for her help as my beta on this chapter, and throughout the story. I’m so grateful you volunteered when I put out my call for betas on tumblr - I feel so lucky.
> 
> Also, I want to dedicate this chapter to baronesskika, who just got married! Here’s wishing you and your new husband a very happy life together!
> 
> I’ve also begun publishing a new Everlark story! It is called The Endless In-Between, and it is a collaborative effort among three authors. The first three chapters have already been published here on AO3. Check it out if you’ve liked what I’ve written so far.
> 
> Finally, come say hi on tumblr: soamazinghere.

I can’t sleep. There’s just too much running through my head right now. Honestly, after what just happened, I don’t understand how Peeta’s sleeping so soundly next to me. How can he possibly be so calm?

 

Rolling over onto my side, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and flip it on. _Ugh_. 2:55 a.m. I feel like I’ve been checking the time every hour and mentally calculating how long I can sleep if I manage to fall asleep right now. But obviously the whole “falling asleep” thing isn’t happening.

 

I finally give up, getting out of bed carefully so that I don’t disturb Peeta. I grab my phone and trudge wearily into the living room, flopping onto the sofa. What now? I’d really like to tell someone about my engagement to Peeta...but it’s the middle of the night. Not exactly a great time to be calling anyone, especially since I have _good_ news to share.

 

I settle for sending a quick text to my sister, knowing that she wouldn’t mind. I start typing. “ _Hey, I have some news. Call me tomorrow. :)_ ” The smiley face will make it obvious that it’s good news, right?

 

But it really is late, and I really _am_ tired, so I’m not going to wait around to see if she replies or wants to have a middle of the night phone call. After drinking a glass of water, I crawl back into bed and close my eyes. There are still a million thoughts racing through my head, though.

 

I’m running through everything I can recall from yoga classes I took years ago to try to quiet my mind when I faintly hear my phone buzz. My eyes snap open and I reach for it immediately.

 

It’s Prim, of course. _“It’s 3 a.m.! What’s so important?_ ”

 

“ _Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,_ ” I reply quickly, turning away from Peeta and hoping that the light from the phone doesn’t bother him.

 

“ _You didn’t, I’m working._ ”

 

Sometimes I forget how weird Prim’s work schedule can be. It must be a slow night at the hospital if she’s found time to sneak away to check her phone.

 

I debate internally whether or not I should tell Prim my news over text. I don’t want to wake Peeta by talking to her; his apartment is so small and it’s so quiet that he’d probably be able to hear me even if I left the bedroom. But isn’t it strange to share momentous news in a text message?

 

I might not have any other choice though, given the fact that I’ve already piqued her curiosity by sending a text at this hour.

 

“ _Don’t kill me for telling you this over text, but I can’t call you right now,_ ” I type.

 

“ _??!!_ ”

 

It makes me strangely giddy to see the words on the screen: “ _Peeta and I are getting married._ ”

 

Prim wastes no time in replying. “ _This has been a really crappy night. Please tell me you’re not joking._ ”

 

“ _I don’t joke at 3 a.m. I’m serious. It’s real._ ”

 

Next comes a flurry of texts as Prim processes my news. It’s all I can do to not laugh out loud.

 

First: “ _OMG!_ ”

 

Then: “ _I don’t even know how to properly react over text!_ ”

 

And finally: “ _I can’t believe it. I’m so excited!!!_ ”

 

I was actually really surprised at her restraint in exclamation point use.

 

Smiling to myself, I type as quickly as I can before she continues her onslaught of messages. “ _Me, too. It was unexpected, but...I’m really happy._ ”

 

I feel Peeta start to stir behind me, and my eyes widen. He needs his sleep tonight even more than I do. I quickly shut off the phone screen, place it back on the nightstand, and pretend to sleep. But when the phone buzzes again a few seconds later, I can’t resist peeking.

 

“ _I’ve gotta get back to work, but we are CELEBRATING when you get home!_ ”

 

Just as I’m about to return the phone to the table, I remember one last thing. I hold my breath for a moment and listen. It sounds like Peeta’s still asleep, so I decide to send another message.

 

“ _Do not tell Effie yet. You’re the first one we’ve told._ ”

 

Effie would either kill me or make me feel guilty for the rest of my life if she got this news from anyone but me. I’d never hear the end of it from her. No way am I taking that risk.

 

Just as I’m about to settle into bed and go to sleep (for real this time, I vow), I feel Peeta’s hand rubbing my lower back. “Katniss, what are you doing?” he mumbles.

 

I bite my lip and roll toward him, giving him an apologetic look. “Um...talking to Prim. Sorry,” I whisper.

 

“It’s the middle of the night,” he reminds me sleepily. “Get back to sleep.”

 

I sigh and turn on my side so that my back is flush with Peeta’s chest. He slips an arm around my waist and draws me close.

 

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” I admit quietly. “I had to tell someone.”

 

Peeta lets out a deep breath and holds me tighter. “I hope you got that out of you, then,” he yawns. “Everyone will find out soon enough.”

__________

 

And Peeta was absolutely right. It wasn’t long before everyone - and I do mean _everyone_ \- found out that we had gotten engaged.

 

Even though I thought we had agreed that the wedding weekend was about Ryan and Lydia and we weren’t going to step on their toes, Peeta let our news slip to his brother. Before the wedding ceremony even started, apparently. I guess he was just too excited to keep the news to himself. I kind of understood where he was coming from given my middle of the night text exchange with Prim, but when I found out, I was absolutely mortified.

 

Not because I didn’t want to be engaged, or because I didn’t want anyone to know about it - no, the reason I was so embarrassed was because Ryan proceeded to announce our engagement publicly to everyone at the reception. To hundreds of people I barely knew.

 

There I was, completely oblivious, just sitting at my table with Delly and her mom (along with a few other Mellarks that I’d met in passing), listening to speeches from Peeta and Hugh and some of Lydia’s bridesmaids. The speeches gave me a much-needed break from Delly’s chatter and my own poor attempts at small talk with the people around me. To be honest, I’d barely listened to the speeches; I was just letting my mind wander as I looked around the room.

 

When Ryan stood to thank everyone for coming and started retelling his history with Lydia, I smiled and laughed at all the right times. I even winked playfully at Peeta when I caught his eye at one point. I was leaning toward Delly, straining to hear as she whispered her reaction to something that Ryan had said, so I barely even registered the words “Peeta” and “big news.”

 

I looked up in confusion when I thought I heard him say _my_ name, and soon afterwards I noticed Delly’s mom grab her arm and ask her to be quiet. Everyone at the table was looking at me and smiling; at the same moment I distinctly heard Ryan say that he’d “see everyone again in a few months at Peeta and Katniss’s wedding,” and my mouth dropped open in shock. Delly squealed and threw her arms around me, but I’m not even sure if I hugged her back; I was still trying to figure out what had just happened.

 

So...that’s how I found out that Peeta spilled the beans.

 

As I absorbed the congratulations of the people sitting near me, I caught Peeta’s eye again. He was blushing beet-red and mouthing “sorry” with a guilty look on his face. Or maybe it was a scared look - I have a feeling he thought I was going to inflict my wrath upon him later. And I’m sure that every emotion I was feeling was written all over my face, too. It’s quite possible that one of those emotions was rage.

 

But I wasn’t really angry, just incredibly shocked and embarrassed to be diverting attention from Ryan and Lydia. I died a little each and every time someone came up and congratulated me. I apologized to Lydia as soon as I could grab her for a minute, but she just laughed it off and told me to save my stress for planning my wedding. “Now that everyone knows you’re engaged, they’ll never let you elope,” she warned me with an amused gleam in her eye, before she was pulled away to talk to other guests.

 

Peeta was contrite, of course, insisting that he _never_ intended for Ryan to tell _anyone_. But I couldn’t hold it against him. By the end of the evening, I could _almost_ see the benefit of telling everyone that way. Get it out of the way all at once when everyone’s in one place, rather than making a hundred phone calls to spread the news to everyone who needs to know. The embarrassment was just an unfortunate side-effect, I suppose.

 

Once Peeta’s family had been told, the only people I needed to worry about were Prim and Effie. Prim had already gotten the bare-bones version of the news, but I shouldn’t have been surprised when she and Thresh practically ambushed me when I stepped into the apartment after I got home from the wedding. (Okay...Prim ambushed me, and Thresh just went along for the ride.)

 

Prim wanted details, of course, but she was nice enough to take me out for a celebratory dinner in exchange. It was an...interesting celebration, to say the least, especially since I wasn’t given a choice about attending and the groom-to-be wasn’t there. And I had my suspicions that the reason Prim passed up several perfectly good French restaurants in DC to take me to one in Virginia was simply to get me in the car for thirty minutes of uninterrupted questioning. But what could I do? She’s my sister.

 

The car ride - and the dinner itself - felt like nothing more than an exhausting stream of questions about how Peeta asked me to marry him, where we were at the time, and what exactly he said. Prim wanted so much information that I’m surprised I even had time to eat my food. Of course, I didn’t have any earth-shatteringly romantic details to provide - I think she was a little perplexed at the spontaneity of the situation and the fact that Peeta knew how I was going to respond in advance - but if I’d had to plan out my ideal proposal, I think it would’ve come pretty close to what I got. God knows I wouldn’t want anything showy or public or attention-seeking - that’s just not me.

 

And Prim knew that, too, so she just told me how happy she was for Peeta and me. She kept gushing about how she couldn’t believe that Peeta and I were actually getting _married_ , and how we wouldn’t have even met if I hadn’t volunteered to take her place when they tried to kick her off the airplane. She told Thresh, who’d been sitting mostly in silence but watching her with amusement, that she always knew Peeta and I were “meant to be.” I rolled my eyes at her words, but I wondered if she could tell how grateful I really was for the way things turned out. Her residency interview ended up benefiting us both in the end.

 

At the end of our evening, as we were finishing our desserts, Prim gave me a stern look and told me to call Effie right away with my news. “Too many people already know about it,” she reminded me, “and Aunt Effie is going to absolutely _die_ from happiness when you tell her.” I agreed that I would call first thing in the morning, before I even left for work.

 

But when I did call Effie the next day, her initial reaction shocked me. After she got over her surprise at me calling her so early in the morning, and after I assured her that I was fine, and Prim was fine, and yes, even Peeta was fine, and after I finally told her my news, her reaction was...complete silence.

 

I remember sitting in confusion for a few moments, waiting for her to speak. Finally I said, “Hello? Aunt Effie, are you there?” I listened and heard faint sniffling sounds on the other end of the line. “Effie, are you okay?” I asked worriedly.

 

I could hear her taking several deep breaths, and then: “My baby girl is getting married!” she wailed.

 

I started laughing in relief, but at some point I think I may have shed a few tears too. Everything felt so _right_ in that moment - I was happy, and I realized that everyone who loved me, and who loved Peeta, was happy _for us_ as well. I had never exactly foreseen having this conversation with Effie, and if I had, I certainly would never have imagined myself breaking down and sobbing tears of joy with her...but guess what?

 

I did.

__________

 

“It just occurred to me that in all of this talk about your engagement,” Prim says, settling into a chair at our dining table, “you never told me where you guys are planning to live.” She leans back and cocks her head to the side, giving me an earnest look. “What did you decide?”

 

My little sister sure does have a way of zeroing in on the conversation topics I’m trying to avoid. I avert my gaze, looking down at my laptop as I sigh, “Um...we still haven’t decided.”

 

“You have to decide soon you know,” she helpfully reminds me, grabbing a banana from the basket in the middle of the table and slowly peeling it.

 

I stare at her in annoyance for a moment, then return to the report I’d been working on. “Obviously,” I mumble.

 

Prim, however, is nothing if not persistent. She takes a bite of her banana and forges ahead. “I mean, I know we’re not going to live together anymore, but you can’t leave me hanging about your decision. I’ll need to figure out where I’m going to live,” she tells me.

 

Now she’s distracting me with guilt. Before Peeta and I got engaged, I was really thinking only of myself and conveniently forgetting about the fact that my decision would impact her, too. Not very good big sister behavior, I know. Getting engaged hasn’t changed anything about my need to figure out our living situation, but it has made me a bit more...motivated. Unless I want to put off the wedding indefinitely (and I don’t), I need to make up my mind.

 

Prim must see the conflicted look crossing my face, because she jumps back in and tries to reassure me. Resting her chin in one hand, she says, “Don’t feel bad, let’s just try to figure this out.” She chews her banana thoughtfully while I continue typing. “Where do you _want_ to live?”

 

I shrug. My typing slows, but I still don’t look up from my computer screen. “I don’t know. But...” I trail off, chewing my lip as I stare off into space. Finally I take a breath and look back at Prim. “I guess if I want to marry Peeta, I better get my act together, huh?”

 

Prim looks at me like I have two heads. “ _That_ should’ve happened a long time ago, but I digress,” she tells me in mock seriousness. She finishes her banana and walks into the kitchen to throw away the peel. “What does Peeta want, then?” she calls to me over her shoulder.

 

“He wants...whatever I want,” I admit, shaking my head. Groaning, I close my laptop and lean my elbows on the table, running my hands over my face. “God, I can’t believe I can’t even meet him halfway on that.”

 

I feel pathetic. Peeta’s given me more than enough leeway to find an acceptable solution, and all I’ve done is create more problems.

 

Prim returns to the table and sits down next to me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “So...he’d really be happy wherever?” she prods quietly.

 

“Yeah,” I sigh helplessly. Turning to face Prim, I tell her earnestly, “But I would be, too.” Which is absolutely true, because I’d be with Peeta, wherever we were. There are certainly other practical considerations, but if we’re strictly talking about happiness, then all I want is to be with Peeta.

 

“If that’s true, Katniss,” Prim says, giving me a look that says she doesn’t believe me but isn’t in the mood to argue, “then - _seriously_ \- just flip a coin or something. Just make up your mind!” she tells me forcefully.

 

“But what about - ” I begin, but Prim cuts me off abruptly.

 

“No. Whatever it is, whatever you’re about to say, just...no. I guarantee you’ve already thought about it, and all this incessant talking has been dragging out forever.” She grabs my shoulders and turns me to face her. Giving me a wide-eyed, serious look, she continues, “You’re just delaying being with Peeta, you know that, right? You could already be living together somewhere, here, or in Chicago, or - or anywhere!” she sputters.

 

I eye her warily. I have to admit, I’ve rarely seen my sister so obviously frustrated, even verging on angry. This is making me nervous.

 

“I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me,” I respond, laughing nervously.

 

Prim nods vigorously. “Guess what? I am!” she tells me emphatically. “You should be living with Peeta, not your sister.”

 

“Um...you’re living with your sister,” I point out.

 

“Maybe so, but I have no plans to get married anytime soon.” Prim falls silent for a moment, thinking. Finally she turns back to me with a determined gleam in her eye. “I’m giving you a deadline. You’re going to see Peeta this weekend, right?” I nod hesitantly, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. “Good. _I’ve_ decided that _you’re_ not coming back here without making a decision.”

 

A noise of protest escapes from my mouth at her words. “Come on - ”

 

She stands abruptly and interrupts me mid-sentence. “Clock’s ticking, Katniss. You’d better start thinking,” she warns as she strides out of the room.

__________

 

Prim’s little deadline trick has been bugging me all week.

 

Part of me wanted to tell her to mind her own business and that I’d make up my mind when I was ready, but that feels like an excuse to continue delaying. Because if I come back after this weekend with a decision, that would mean that I was doing it because she said to, right? So if I really want to show her who’s boss, I won’t do anything. Continue with the status quo.

 

But I don’t think I’d get any satisfaction out of that. After all, continuing the status quo means that I’m still not living with Peeta. So I’d only be punishing myself. And Peeta.

 

It really bothers me to think about what she said, that I could already be living with Peeta by now. Call me dense, call me short-sighted, but I honestly never thought of it that way before. That my obstinacy is really the only thing standing in the way of me being with Peeta. _Now._

 

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, bumping elbows with the woman sitting next to me. “Sorry,” I mutter as I turn away from her to gaze out the window.

 

It’s a really beautiful day today - sunny, clear, hardly a cloud in the sky - and we’re getting close to Chicago now. I can see Lake Michigan looming up ahead in the distance, and soon enough I know that I’ll see the city’s familiar skyline appearing on the shore. I never cared about it one way or another in the past, but I’ve grown fond of it over the past year. It means that I’ll be seeing Peeta soon.

 

The thought of seeing Peeta brings a smile to my face, and I instinctively try to hide it from my seatmates. I’m not sure why - after all, what’s so crazy about seeing a person smile? - but it feels too private to share. Not that I should be worrying anyway. I sneak a glance off to the side and see that my seatmates - a young couple - are still chattering happily to each other, as they have been for this entire flight.

 

I rest my head against the window. I’ve been spending so much time worrying and stressing and trying to figure out how to make things just absolutely perfect, but what have I accomplished? Nothing, as far as I can tell. Well, I have succeeded in keeping Peeta and me living in separate cities, but that wasn’t exactly my goal. In fact, it’s pretty much the opposite of what I set out to do.

 

Checking the time on my watch, I see that we have about forty minutes before we’re scheduled to arrive. I don’t really feel like doing anything right now, so I settle back into my seat and close my eyes. The conversation of my seatmates drifts into my consciousness, and I can’t help but eavesdrop. It’s pretty boring, though.

 

“What are we going to do about dinner tonight? I don’t think we have any food in the house,” I hear the woman say.

 

“We could go out,” the man suggests. “Maybe the Italian place down the street?”

 

“But we’ve been eating out all week,” the woman whines. “I just want to stay in our own house and relax. Plus the cat’s going to need some attention.”

 

“Takeout then. The Chinese place you like?”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

As boring as the conversation is, it makes me kind of sad to hear it. Okay, maybe sad isn’t the right word; I think I might be jealous. They’re having a totally normal, everyday conversation. They’re just talking about what they’re going to do when they get home.

 

And it’s exactly the sort of conversation that I’ve never gotten to have with Peeta. There’s not really room in our relationship for anything you would call “normal” or “everyday.” And we don’t have a home, at least not one we share.

 

I’ve never even been on a plane with Peeta, because in the entire time I’ve known him, we’ve never been going to the same place.

 

I realize how badly I want to be able to have my own totally boring and normal moments with Peeta. I want that with him, and I know he wants it with me, too. I’ve been the one stupidly keeping us apart. We could be there already. Peeta’s home could be my home.

 

What exactly have I been doing for these past few months?

 

I’m in control here. I can make this decision at any time.

 

So, I do. I know all the pros and cons; I’ve been over them a million times in my head. Nothing has changed and nothing is going to change unless I do something. There’s no perfect solution, and no way to achieve perfection. There’s just me, and Peeta, and one obvious answer.

 

Now it’s time for me to tell him.

__________

 

“So, um,” Peeta says in an amused tone, “do you want me to tell you how many times I’ve been asked about our wedding date?”

 

I burst out laughing and link my hand with his as we walk. At one time, that may have surprised me, but that was before I had ever met a single Mellark. We haven’t been engaged for that long; are people really that interested in attending another wedding? Yes, apparently they are.

 

“Why don’t you freak them out and tell them it was last week?” I suggest jokingly.

 

“I’d really rather not be responsible for any heart attacks,” Peeta responds quickly. “But you’re more than welcome to say that if anyone asks you. I’d love to see what happens.”

 

I smile and move closer to Peeta’s side. He drops my hand in favor of wrapping his arm comfortably around my shoulders. It feels so good to be back here with him - I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.

 

We walk in silence for a few minutes before Peeta looks down at me and bites his lip, like he wants to say something. “What is it?” I ask.

 

“Well,” he sighs. “We’re not going to be able to get away without having any answers for too long. About wedding stuff, I mean. Once people heard we were engaged, they kind of...expected the wheels to be set in motion, you know?”

 

I nod in understanding. “Yeah, I get it. Maybe we should set a date or something,” I muse. “Just so they know we aren’t planning on an _indefinite_ engagement.”

 

A look of surprise crosses Peeta’s face before he’s able to hide it. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be ready for that yet,” he stammers, “given that we haven’t even figured out where we’re going to live.”

 

I shake my head, almost imperceptibly. Peeta’s been so good to me throughout all of this - he’s never once pressured me in the slightest to hurry up and make a decision already. He’s been so considerate. Too considerate, really. He should’ve tried to knock some sense into me a long time ago. I would’ve deserved it.

 

But he brought it up just now. I think he’d probably rather discuss it, but he’s reverting to his old habits of not pushing me too much to do something I’d rather not do. Still, this is as good a time as any to tell him that I’ve finally made up my mind...and apologize for what I’ve put him through.

 

I nudge him gently as we walk. “I’ve been thinking about that,” I tell him.

 

“Really?” he says absently. I’m sure he thinks I’m leading us right down the path to the same conversation we’ve had so many times already. He’s got to be tired of it by now.

 

“You said you’d be willing to move to DC?” I ask.

 

He answers without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, absolutely.”

 

“Then...I think that’s what we should do. If you’re _really_ okay with it,” I say, pulling us to a stop and giving him an earnest look.

 

His initial reaction seems to be disbelief, but when he sees that I’m obviously serious, he lets a small smile work it’s way onto his face. “I’d go tomorrow if that’s what you wanted, Katniss.”

 

I return his smile and take both of his hands in mine. “It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but...soon, okay?” I tell him. “I mean, I’m glad we’re getting married - I really am - but what I really want is this,” I say, struggling to find the right words. “Us, together...all the time. I just - I get so insanely jealous of the tiniest normal couple things I see from others. I want that for us _so badly_.”

 

Peeta gives me a look that I can only describe as elated, and he swiftly brings his hands up to my face and draws my mouth to his. I reach up and place my hands on his arms as I lean into the kiss to deepen it. I can’t believe that I could make him this happy. And I really can’t believe that I kept him waiting for so long. I’m lucky he stuck around through everything.

 

Suddenly, Peeta breaks away from our kiss, panting. “It won’t take me too long to wrap things up here,” he explains breathlessly. “Dad will probably need to find someone to help out at the bakery, and I need to get rid of my apartment, but there’s really nothing too difficult for me to take care of.” The words tumble out of him in a rush. “I’m ready to go, Katniss. And I am _so ready_ to be done with this distance thing,” he says excitedly as he pulls me tightly to his chest.

 

“Me, too,” I mumble into his shirt. I feel my eyes start to fill with tears - of relief, I think. Pulling my head back, I look up at him through the unshed tears and say, “Forget what I said before. You can move tomorrow if you want,” I tell him, letting out a strange sound that’s half laugh and half sob. “But seriously, whenever you’ve taken care of everything here, you can come to DC, anytime. I’m so sorry it took me so long to make this decision.”

 

Peeta cups my chin in his hand and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Hey, you don’t need to apologize for anything, Katniss. We couldn’t move forward until you were ready,” he reassures me.

 

I let out a deep breath and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Yes, but...it’s not possible to be _as ready_ as I was trying to make us. I was just being stupid,” I say, shaking my head in frustration at myself.

 

“Don’t say that,” Peeta warns me emphatically. “I knew where you were coming from, even if I didn’t feel the same way. You had to work through whatever doubts you’d been having.”

 

“That’s easy for you to say now,” I sniffle, tugging on his hand and starting to walk again. “You were probably ready to strangle me,” I tease nervously. I’m not sure I really want to know.

 

“No comment,” he says, squeezing my hand.

 

I bump into him playfully with my shoulder as we walk. “Anyway, I’m just trying to say that I think I get it now. Our situation won’t be perfect, but I think that finally being together in the same city...that’ll be pretty close, you know? And that’s so much more important than everything else,” I try to explain.

 

Somehow he understands what I’m trying to say, though. “It is,” he nods. “But don’t blame yourself for everything. This whole situation - I mean, our entire relationship from the very beginning - has been...difficult to figure out. And clearly neither of us had a clue what we were doing,” he chuckles, looking down at me and raising his eyebrows.

 

I laugh softly. “That’s an understatement,” I acknowledge. But my joking tone disappears as I look up at him and tell him solemnly, “And I want to let you know, we don’t have to stay in DC forever. I want you to have the bakery someday,” I assure him. “We’ll make it happen.”

 

Peeta smiles at me and kisses my temple. “I’m not worried about that right now,” he states. I start to protest, but he cuts me off before I’m able to speak. “I just want to make sure we’re together _now_ ,” he says emphatically. “We’ll deal with that other stuff later.”

 

“Someday soon,” I say determinedly.

 

“Sure.”

 

As we walk, I’m filled with a strange feeling, like my entire world has changed. Like everything is finally falling correctly into place in a way that I never imagined it would. This is an even more powerful emotion than what I felt when Peeta and I got engaged. It’s hard to put it in words, but the closest I can come is to say that I feel...complete. And maybe unburdened. 

 

I can’t believe that everyone around us is going on about their lives completely oblivious to this fact. This is huge to me - I think I’m about to burst.

 

I pull Peeta to a stop right in the middle of the sidewalk, for a moment not caring that we’re obstructing the paths of the people walking near us. I look him directly in the eyes. “I love you. You know that?” I ask forcefully.

 

He holds my gaze steadily. “I do. And I love you, too,” he reminds me.

 

I let out a long, deep breath as I nod resolutely. I think we’re finally ready to move forward.

__________

 

I’m in a sea of boxes right now, trying to figure out where I packed my clothes hangers. I found all my clothes, but right now I have no way to put them into the closet. When I started packing up the Eastern Market apartment just a few days ago, I initially tried to be very organized, carefully labeling the boxes “kitchen” or “books” or “bathroom.” But around two o’clock in the morning, my organizational system devolved into such helpful labels as “stuff” and “things” and “junk.” And my hangers, of course, are in one of _those_ boxes.

 

I can hear cabinets banging in the kitchen, so I walk in that direction to ask Peeta if he’s seen what I’m looking for. The walk from the bedroom to the kitchen in our new, lovely, but tiny apartment takes all of five seconds.

 

We hadn’t necessarily planned to get a new place when we moved in together. After I got home from my latest trip to see Peeta in Chicago - which turned out to be my last before he moved here - I’d imagined that we’d just keep the old apartment and Prim would move out. It seemed like the practical thing to do after all; why should _both_ Prim and I move? It’s easier to stay put.

 

But as Peeta and I started talking logistics and working out the details of his move, I started to wonder if we shouldn’t start fresh. Turn over a new leaf in an entirely new apartment that’s ours, where Peeta isn’t just my new roommate appearing to take Prim’s place.

 

Maybe this doesn’t seem to be a very Katniss-like sentiment, so I’ll have to be honest and admit that it was Prim’s idea. She thought it would be very _meaningful_ for Peeta and me to start our new lives together in a new space. Start with a clean slate, she told me.

 

I scoffed initially, but agreed to go apartment hunting just to placate her. Peeta didn’t care one way or another where we lived, so the decision was mine to make. I didn’t imagine that we’d find anything that was available anyway; the move happened fairly quickly. Peeta just arrived this morning, almost one month exactly from when we agreed he’d move here.

 

And I definitely didn’t fall in love with this apartment - all 650 square feet of it - at first sight. There’s nothing wrong with it, of course. It has everything we need: kitchen, bathroom, living/dining room, even a washer and dryer. The building’s new, it’s not a walk-up, and we have a doorman. I can afford it on my income alone. All pluses. But taking the place would mean that I had to pack up my stuff and move. Again. So I was reluctant.

 

But once the idea was planted in my head, I started to notice things. Like how my Eastern Market apartment was a six block walk from the metro, and the other one was only two blocks. How our window-unit air conditioners could never really get the place cool during the summer months. How our downstairs neighbor thought we liked to hear him blast Fox News at six o’clock in the morning.

 

But even more so, the Eastern Market place was mine and Prim’s. It was hard for me to imagine ever seeing it as mine and Peeta’s. And even though I had lots of happy times with Peeta there, it also held the memories of some of our saddest moments. I began to see what Prim meant when she said we needed a fresh start.

 

One day during my lunch break at work, I went over to look at the building again. I decided on a whim to go inside and see if the apartment was still available. It was, and, well...here we are.

 

“Peeta, have you seen any clothes hangers?” I ask him, kicking some empty boxes out of my path as I make my way into the kitchen.

 

He points at a “junk” box sitting on the floor by the front door. “I saw some in there, underneath your towels,” he tells me before he continues putting away his pots and pans. Or I should say, _our_ pots and pans.

 

I rummage through the box and grab all the hangers I can hold. Standing up, I suddenly get a view of the entire apartment, with every bit of floor space covered in boxes. Over the course of the day, we’ve created walkways to help us get through the rooms. I sigh and lean against the front door behind me. “We have too much stuff,” I inform Peeta.

 

“Huh?” he calls, his head hidden behind a cabinet door.

 

“I think we need to get rid of, like, two-thirds of our possessions,” I joke, making my way back to the bedroom.

 

“I’ve never lived in a place this small before,” Peeta remarks.

 

“College dorms?”

 

“Okay, not counting that.”

 

“And you have to share it with me!” I say in mock horror as I start hanging clothes in the walk-in closet.

 

“We’re not going to last long, are we?” Peeta teases, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway.

 

“Thank god I haven’t bought a wedding dress,” I retort sarcastically.

 

Peeta just laughs and shakes his head as he turns to leave the room. Soon I hear the now-familiar sound of tape being ripped off yet another box. “How are we going to have this place unpacked in a week?” I mutter under my breath.

 

Have I mentioned that I sometimes make really idiotic decisions? Well, I promised Prim that she and Thresh could come over later this week and Peeta would cook dinner for them. How quickly I’ve forgotten that it usually takes me a month (or longer...) to unpack all my boxes after a move. But Prim is dying to check out our new place and catch up with Peeta.

 

Prim, by the way, was actually _shocked_ when I came home from my last trip to Chicago and told her that Peeta was moving to DC. That’s how little faith she had in me. Even after she yelled at me and tried to give me a deadline, she still didn’t think I was going to go through with it and make a decision. And even then, I don’t know if she completely believed I was telling her the truth. It probably took about a week, and me asking her repeatedly why she hadn’t started looking for new apartments yet, before it really sunk in.

 

And then she got super-excited.

 

She’s been gushing non-stop about how great Peeta is, how thrilled she’ll be to have her brother-in-law living nearby, and how she’s going to tell him _everything_ about me. She’s started planning all these little day trips to introduce Peeta to every tourist site within two hundred miles of DC. The mountains, the beach, various Civil War battlefields...I hope he’s ready. I haven’t told him about any of this yet; I figure that’s up to Prim.

 

Oh, and she did finally get around to finding herself an apartment. All in all, it’s worked out really well for her. She moved across town and is much closer to the hospital...closer to Thresh too, but she insists that didn’t factor in her decision in the slightest. _Sure_ , Prim.

 

The hours that Peeta and I spent unpacking today have made me really tired, so I decide to make up the bed just so I can collapse onto it. Thank god I found the sheets tucked in a box that held a bunch of my DVDs.

 

“I’m so tired, Peeta,” I moan. “Can we just stop?” Why didn’t I spend the extra money and have the movers unpack for us?

 

I lie on my stomach, eyes closed and head resting on my folded arms for a few seconds before I feel the mattress sink next to me. Peeta’s hand rests on my lower back. “Need a break?” he asks softly.

 

“Yes,” I mumble into my arms. I roll onto my side to face him and bury my head in his chest, breathing deeply.

 

He wraps his arm around me loosely and plays with the end of my braid. “We could just take the rest of the day off, you know,” he muses.

 

“That sounds fantastic,” I say into his chest. We lie there silently for a few minutes, resting quietly in each other’s arms. Peeta breaks the silence first.

 

“You know, this is maybe the first time that we’ve been together and I haven’t felt pressure to do anything in particular,” he says slowly.

 

I pull my head back and look up at him. “Huh,” I say thoughtfully. “I guess that’s true...wow.”

 

“’Wow’ is right.” He softly kisses the top of my head. “I still can’t get over the fact that neither of us have a plane to catch anytime soon. We have all sorts of time to do nothing.”

 

“’Nothing’ sounds amazing right now.” I take a few deep breaths, just taking everything in. Our new lives together, being able to go to sleep and wake up next to each other every day...all of it. A wave of gratitude washes over me. “Thanks for coming here, Peeta.”

 

“Don’t thank me. I got the better part of the deal - I get to be with you,” he tells me. I shake my head in disbelief. He is completely wrong about who’s benefiting the most, but I’m too tired to argue right now.

 

A few weeks ago, when I told Effie that Peeta was going to move to DC, she reacted with, well...confusion, I think. Despite everything I told her about not knowing where we were going to live, she’d been operating under the assumption that I would leave for Chicago. After Peeta and I got engaged, she was even more convinced of it.

 

I thought she’d be ecstatic that I wasn’t going to leave, that our little family would remain intact, but she honestly seemed a bit worried. I had no idea why she wasn’t happier for us, but eventually she explained - as diplomatically as she could - that she thought I was asking too much of Peeta. That I needed to do more for my fiancée to show him how much I loved him. Otherwise he might move on and find someone more willing to put him first.

 

Effie’s words initially made me so angry that I couldn’t even respond. It was insulting to Peeta to insinuate that his love for me was dependent on getting something in return, and it was insulting to me to say that I owed it to him to put my life on hold in favor of his. Effie and I still don’t see eye-to-eye on this - I know she still secretly worries about our future - but I finally realized that her perspective was colored by her own life experiences. She puts all the blame for her own marriage falling apart squarely on her own shoulders. It’s never even entered her mind that maybe she just married a complete jerk.

 

Call me crazy, but I have a feeling that Peeta’s not going to disappoint me.

 

Still, Effie’s right about one thing at least - Peeta has done a lot of the giving in our relationship, and I can’t take that for granted.

 

As I lie here in his arms - in _our_ apartment, and _our_ bed - I’m reminded again of how grateful I am for him and for everything he’s been willing to do for me. And if I owe him anything, it’s to show him every day how much I appreciate it.

__________

 

I wake up to the sound of my phone’s alarm blaring, and I reach blindly for the nightstand to grab it and turn it off. My hand searches but doesn’t find anything. I roll onto my back and groan. I was so tired last night when I went to bed - Peeta and I had spent a _long_ day unpacking - that I’m pretty sure I forgot my phone in the kitchen.

 

It’s alright. Today’s a work day, anyway. It’s not as if I could just turn it off and go back to bed, as much as I might want to.

 

As I struggle to sit up, I’m surprised to see Peeta still asleep beside me. It’s seven o’clock; he’s usually up before now. He’s so accustomed to keeping baker’s hours that he’s awake around sunrise practically every day. I guess yesterday really was exhausting. He might as well keep sleeping, because there’s a lot more to do today.

 

I take a deep breath, blinking the sleep out of my eyes, before running to the kitchen to silence the alarm. I yawn as I pad slowly back to the bedroom, pulling my robe out of the closet and heading to the bathroom for a shower. I smile as I look at Peeta, who still seems to be sleeping soundly. Good.

 

I stand in the shower for a long time - too long, really, since I have to get to work soon - letting the hot water cascade over me. I don’t want to go to work; honestly, I don’t even want to move. It was a stupid idea to plan to go to work the day after moving into our new apartment. I’d like another day off to just sleep...but I’m not going to get it.

 

Sighing, I turn off the water and step out of the tub. As I slip my robe over my shoulders, I can hear sounds coming from the kitchen. And there are smells, too - delicious smells. Like someone is making me a breakfast that _isn’t_ just cold cereal.

 

I hurry into the kitchen. Peeta looks up from his cooking and smiles. “Good morning,” he greets me.

 

I walk to his side and kiss him on the cheek. I lean my head on his shoulder and he somehow manages to continue cooking while slipping one arm my waist. “Wow,” I tell him, “you’re spoiling me! I can’t remember the last time I had an actual cooked breakfast before work. It might be never.”

 

“It’s the least I can do,” Peeta assures me as he flips a slice of French toast with one hand.

 

“Are you showing off?” I tease him as I slip away from his grasp. Heaven forbid if he were to drop a piece of French toast on the floor because I’m distracting him.

 

“Maybe,” he shrugs, carefully placing the finished slice on a plate with several others. I lean against the counter and watch him dip another piece of bread into the egg mixture and place it in the pan.

 

“You made the bread, too, right?” I ask jokingly.

 

I see him fighting back a smile, but he doesn’t look up from his cooking. “It’d be a _waste_ to use my fresh bread in French toast,” he replies quickly.

 

Laughing softly, I walk slowly to our small dining table and sit down. “I wish I didn’t have to go to work today,” I yawn.

 

As Peeta continues making us breakfast, it hits me again that this is how things are going to be from now on. I share this apartment with Peeta. His kitchen is my kitchen. He could make me breakfast any morning (and I hope he does). I don’t have anywhere to go, except work. Our time together doesn’t have to be counted in minutes or hours. I don’t quite know what to make of this.

 

I’m smiling at nothing in particular, just lost in my thoughts, when Peeta brings breakfast to me and sits down. The look on my face must’ve been kind of odd, because he gives me a curious look and asks, “What are you smiling about?”

 

I break out of my trance and turn my head toward him. “Nothing,” I say, taking a couple of slices of French toast and slathering them in maple syrup.

 

Peeta raises his eyebrows but doesn’t question me further. I admire how content he looks as he starts eating. Part of me still worries about him - I mean, he left his job and his entire family to move hundreds of miles away to be with me - but I try to remind myself that this is exactly what we both want and what we chose. We’ve chosen to be together, and that’s why he’s happy. And why I’m happy, too.

 

Peeta reminds me of that whenever I forget.

 

“What are your plans today?” I ask him.

 

He shrugs and puts down his fork, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. “Unpack some more, probably.” He stares at the wall a moment before looking back at me. “Maybe watch TV? Pick out bridesmaid dresses for the wedding?”

 

I can’t help but laugh, and he reaches across the table and places his hand over mine. “Everything’s going to be fine, Katniss,” he reassures me, gazing earnestly into my eyes. “This is day one. We don’t have everything figured out yet - but that’s okay.”

 

I bite my lip and smile at him. “You’re right,” I respond as I return to my food. We chat idly for several minutes about nothing in particular as we finish eating. Eventually, I stand up and make my way to the bedroom.

 

As I get dressed and gather the things I need for my day at work, I hear Peeta cleaning up in the kitchen. I wonder if this all feels as strange to him as it does to me. I’m still not used to the fact that we’re really, truly _together_ now. He’s not about to get on an airplane and fly back to Chicago. I’m not about to step out the front door and leave for a month. Will I ever get used to this?

 

I walk into the kitchen and get ready to leave. Peeta’s loading our breakfast plates into the dishwasher; I put my hand gently on his back and he turns to face me. I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes and just breathing for a few moments. He returns my embrace and rubs my back comfortingly.

 

Maybe I don’t want to get used to this. I certainly don’t want to ever take it for granted.

 

But for now, I really have to get to work. I raise my head reluctantly and place a lingering kiss on his lips. I can feel him smile against my mouth.

 

Pulling back slightly, I whisper, “I love you.” I make my way to the front door and open it. “I’ll see you after work.”

 

Peeta’s always had a way with words. He doesn’t even have to try; it’s like he always instinctively knows the right thing to say. So I shouldn’t be surprised when he gives me his beautiful smile and says exactly what I need to get me through my day.

 

And the weeks and months and years ahead of us.

 

“I’ll be here.”

 


End file.
